Charmer
by Rhanon Brodie
Summary: "I must have started believing in God right then and there – because certainly, I was going straight to hell. And you can't have one without the other." Teenage!Murphy / Older OFC. Rated M on a whole. She makes him wait for the real deal, but she can't re
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: Title comes from one of my favourite Kings of Leon songs of the same name. The song itself alludes to a possible one-sided love of the lead singer by their local preacher's wife, but I don't think that has every actually been proven. Anyway, seeing as how I don't know very much about the Catholic faith, I didn't get too… 'churchy' in this fic. _

_I did, however, really want to explore the MacManus element in their younger days, so this takes place circa 1986 in a small town outside of Dublin. Twins are roughly seventeen, going on eighteen. As my last fic was full of action and general bad assitude, I decided to go a little bit different with this one, a little humorous, a little romantic, nicely doomed, bittersweet, and of course, innocently sexy. Tender, maybe, and maybe tame, too, but I think it's hot so you probably will. Rated M on a whole, but as Murphy is only 17 in the first few chapters, we'll keep the smexy times toned down (with no actual sex until he's 18; don't worry, in the fic's world, his birthday is only a few weeks away)_

_I don't own the MacManus twins. I know, sad, but true. They are, however, coming to my home town in April when we shall discuss said ownership. I'll probably be arrested at that point and both Reedus and Flanery will put a restraining order on me. Ah well. Life's too short to live on the safe side. _

_As always, unbeta'd, I don't believe in betas, I just believe in me. Reviews are like manna from heaven, people. I don't write for them, but they are welcome, good, bad, or otherwise._

_Enjoy._

* * *

"Murphy Michael MacManus, you get down here ta dis' kitchen dis _instant_!"

Torn from the book he was reading for English Lit, seventeen year old Murphy glanced up at the door with wide eyes. Across the room, at his own desk, his twin brother Connor snickered.

"Aye, Murph, better get goin'," he chided with a broad, satisfied grin. "Sounds like Ma found out somethin' you were tryin' ta hide." Connor's blue eyes that were carbon copies of Murphy's twinkled with mirth.

"Ah, fuck me," Murphy groaned, tossing his book aside and launching himself from the bed. "If I don't come back, ya can have me collection of _Hustler_. Dey're under me mattress," he winked.

Connor grinned. "Already read those ones, but thanks all tha same. Reckon I'll trade em' with Mickey Calhoun for a spot of his Da's whiskey."

"Aye, aye," Murphy nodded, taking a breath and heading to the door. "Comin', Ma," he called, rolling his eyes at his brother before he stepped out into the hallway.

Getting into trouble was something that the twins _excelled_ at. In fact, it was oft thought that if one of them _wasn't_ in trouble, then they were sick, or possibly dead. Murphy and his brother were used to their Ma's discipline; their father wasn't around to give them a whooping anyhow. But as Murphy descended the narrow staircase at the back of the MacManus house he racked his brain trying to remember anything he'd done recently that would make Ma use his middle name. He sauntered into the kitchen, seeing his mother's face red with anger. He wondered if steam would come out of _her_, too, and not just the stew simmering on the stove.

He opened his mouth, although he wasn't sure what he'd say. The look in his mother's narrowed eyes, however, shut him up quickly and he waited for her to speak, the only sound that of the bubbling stew pot next to them.

"Seems that back in January, a couple of tha local boys were seen tramplin' through the rosebushes at tha back of that church," Ma started, her gaze steely as she stared down her son.

For his part, Murphy didn't move.

Ma continued. "Tha boys were runnin' tail after stealin' _this_," she growled, and with a flourish, she produced a rather sad looking resin Baby Jesus that would be at home in a church nativity scene, but that had, as Murphy knew, spent the latter part of winter tucked under the back step that led out to the chicken coops. Being early May, Ma had probably been cleaning, and Murphy had honestly forgotten about the prank. But it was thrust in his face now and he knew that there would be no talking his way out of this one. He pleaded for mercy instead.

"Ah, c'mon, Ma, it was five months ago," he started with a sheepish grin and shrug. "I mean, we waited until _after_ twelfth night an' all dat." When his mother said nothing, he reached for the Baby Jesus, turning it over in his hands as he spoke. "N'besides, tha church could use a new one altogether, aye? 'Ow long has dis one been in use?" He passed it back and forth from hand to hand. "Jimmy McDermot an' Ryan O'Shea…"

"I don't give two pisses about Jimmy McDermot or that O'Shea brat!" Ma spat, snatching the Baby Jesus back and shaking it at Murphy for emphasis. "You _stole_ tha ever loving Messiah right out from under his Ma's nose an' then completely demolished the rose bushes that have been there for fifty years!"

Murphy pursed his lips, refusing to let his voice carry to her level. They'd had their screaming matches, for sure; she was as hot headed as Connor and Murphy didn't feel like getting into it. Behind him, the stairwell creaked and suddenly, Connor flooded the kitchen.

"It was my idea, Ma, really, Murph didn't have anything ta do…"

"Oh, shut yer little lyin' trap, Connor Benjamin," Ma snapped, her eyes flashing. She knew that her oldest was merely trying to protect his brother, and her heart warmed with the though, but Murphy was old enough to handle his own messes. "You know dat yer plans are half-baked at best an' dat dis would have come to light _far_ sooner than now."

Connor's face fell and he scowled at the floor, muttering something about good plans and always working out, but he didn't speak out of turn. Instead, he looked back to Murphy, who in all his petulant glory, merely glared back at Ma and waited for her to dish out punishment. She'd probably have him clean the coops for the next four Saturdays, or maybe take to market with her on Sundays after church, or maybe shear sheep with Old Geoffrey Connelly over the way. None of it was really punishment.

Ma tapped her fingers on the counter top, waiting for Murphy to protest loudly, but she could see his stubborn nature shining through. She was glad for once that she wouldn't be the one administering the punishment for his little stunt. "Yer ta go ta St. Patrick's on Saturday mornins an' help replant tha bushes that ya trampled. _Then_ you're goin' ta help build a fence around the back side so that next Christmas, if any little shits decide ta try an' outdo Murphy MacManus' Savoir Heist, they won't get away as easily."

He knew there was no point in arguing. "Yes, ma'am," he sighed. "Anythin' else?"

"Yeah, you can roll up yer goddamn sleeves an' make biscuits for dinner tonight," Ma decided, untying her apron. She wadded it up and threw it at Murphy as she waltzed out of the kitchen. "An' don't mess up tha floors, either! Just washed em' this mornin'!"

Murphy glowered in his mother's direction but said nothing, and instead threw the apron onto the table with a tiny uttered curse.

"Hey, don't be too upset, Murph," Connor soothed as he took a seat at the table and fiddled with the apron ties. "Ya do make outstandin' biscuits."

"Shut up, Connor."

"So you should have no problem prunin' rose bushes, either, ya fuckin' fairy!"

"Shut _up_, Connor!" Murphy huffed. He busied himself yanking ingredients out of the cupboard and piling them on the counter, only halfway listening to Connor's teasing.

"Suppose this means that I'll hafta take both Katie and Molly ta tha movies on Saturday afternoon," Connor sighed wistfully. "Can you imagine havin' ta take both of those lovely girls? Maybe we can go fer a bite after…" He was cut off by a tin measuring cup sailing close to his head. Connor settled down for a moment, watching as Murphy made biscuits from memory. "Or maybe I can just bring em' back here fer tea and biscuits."

Murphy's reply was a fistful of flour to the face.

* * *

"Márín?"

I looked up at the sound of my brother-in-law's voice, my hands plunged in fresh potting soil and peat as I worked to prepare the beds for the new rosebushes. Dressed in his best wool slacks and the dark charcoal sweater I'd given to him for Christmas, Colin smiled down at me, before he dropped to a crouch.

"You don't hafta do this – I told ya, the MacManus boy is being _punished_," he chuckled.

I wiped at the sweat that had already formed on my forehead. Early May for Wicklow was unseasonably warm, and the sweater I'd started with that Saturday morning had already been tossed aside. I shrugged and sat back on my haunches. "And I told _you_ that I needed something to do with my hands when you go away on these weekend trips." My arms crossed over my chest. "Trust me, there's plenty here he can do."

Colin frowned, and I felt a small pang of guilt for making him do so. "Márín, I know you've been having a rough go of it since Joe…"

I put my hand up to cut off what he was going to say. Colin sighed and continued. "Maybe you should go into town? Take the market in, rent a car, drive into Dublin to see your girlfriends…" he trailed off, looking slightly awkward.

I couldn't blame him, really. It was his brother I had been married to, and said brother had died the prior September. With little family to speak of in Dublin, where we'd been living, Joe's older brother Colin extended a warm hand like the good Catholic he was and took me into his home without question. I was grateful, for certain, but the winter in the small town had been long, and I spent most of it haunting the four rooms of Colin's modest home. Now that summer was around the corner, I was getting anxious. But for what, I didn't know.

Picking up the trowel I'd stuck into the earth, I began digging up the remnants of the old rosebush roots once more. "I'm sorry, Col," I said softly. "I haven't been very good company lately."

He brushed my golden blonde hair from my face and smiled warmly. "You're not at fault, Márín. But if you aren't willing to find peace with those you love, perhaps you'll find peace with He who loves you?"

I smiled in spite of myself and tilted my head, looking at him in the early morning sun. "Colin," I warned. He knew how I felt about religion. I had no problem with it, if it wasn't being forced down my throat.

He smiled again, just as warmly as he had before, and stood smoothly. "At least think on it. I'll be back tomorrow evening." He stuffed his hands in his pockets and looked up across the church yard. "Ah, here comes our new gardener now."

I twisted around on my knees and raised a hand, shielding out the sun. A boy tore up the drive on a ten-speed bike and put the brakes on in a cloud of dust. Dismounting, he leaned the bike against the side of the main stairs and trudged across the lawn, raising a lanky arm to wave in greeting.

"Mornin', Father McMahon," he trilled. He came to stop before my brother-in-law, and I discovered that my first assessment – that of him being a 'boy' – wasn't quite on the mark.

"Good mornin' ta you, Mr. MacManus. I'm glad you could make it."

The _young man_ shrugged and my eyes were drawn to impossibly broad shoulders – he couldn't have been older than seventeen, I decided, watching as he toed the ground with his tennis shoe.

"Me Ma made it sound so interestin', I couldn't resist." He flashed a cheeky smile at Colin.

Colin laughed and clapped the young man on the back, and then turned him in my direction. "Murphy MacManus, I'd like ya ta meet my sister-in-law, Márín McMahon. She's agreed to help you out with your task."

* * *

Murphy swallowed the sigh he was prepared to heave and swung his blue eyes to the right, where Father McMahon had indicated. He knew, from village gossip, that Father McMahon's sister-in-law had come to live with him just before Christmas, but who she was or what she looked like had remained a mystery, at least to him. He expected some old matron in an oversized hat, floral dress, grey hair, glasses…but what he got was the opposite.

Márín McMahon couldn't have been older than thirty (Murphy's guess was actually 27), and she hadn't bothered with a hat that morning, and the long golden waves of her hair shone brightly in the warm sunshine, pulled back from her face in a simple ponytail. Her eyes were clear green. She wore an old t-shirt with a UDUB crest on the front and light colored jeans, torn at the knees. She knelt in the dirt, the dark stuff streaking her arms and her face. When she stood, she smiled and held out her hand for him to take.

"Hi, Murphy." Her voice was smooth, low, and Murphy swallowed thickly at how she said his name. He didn't know how it was different from anyone else saying his name, it just was.

"Hello," he answered softly, holding her hand in his.

* * *

Up close, it was easy to get lost in his gaze. It was dark – not the color, mind you, for he had brilliant blue irises – but on a whole, he seemed a little…petulant. A little rebellious. His lip quirked up in half a smile as he greeted me; his hand was warm and held mine firmly. He was several inches taller than me, too, and muscled like young athletes were. His voice was soft, and a little rough, when he greeted me and it was at that point that I knew Murphy MacManus was going to be a handful.

Colin was chattering away in the background, too caught up in the work that needed to be done around the church yard. "…general clean-up. Clearing dead fall from the hawthorn and honeysuckle, edging the lawn, and of course, the fence."

I snapped out of the trance Murphy's tilted blue eyes had put me in and quickly looked to Colin. "Yep, lots to do."

Out of the corner of my eye, Murphy nodded, and then rubbed the back of his head, ruffling the thick, dark waves of his hair. "Ah…Father McMahon, I know ya said ev'ry Saturday, but there's a game next one over, yeah?" He flashed a charming smile. "Wouldn't be proper deprivin' tha team of their star pitcher." He gave a little shrug to effect indifference, but there was an arrogant swagger to his voice.

Colin frowned and nodded. "Aye, I'm aware. Let's see how ya go today an' we'll talk. An' don't be thinkin' that Márín will let you off easy, ya hear? She'll give me a full report tomorrow evenin'." He winked at me and flashed a small grin as Murphy huffed.

"Yes, sir," he muttered, jamming his hands in his pockets.

"Right then," Colin concluded. He leaned in and kissed me on the cheek. "I'm off. Take care, love. Call if ya need me, aye?"

I shoved him away with a chuckle. "Yeah, yeah, I'll be fine. Drive carefully. We'll have dinner tomorrow."

I watched then as Colin turned, picked up his overnight bag and with a final wave, tucked himself into his car and pulled out of the lot. Shaking my head fondly once more, I turned to find Murphy looking at me.

It startled me, just a bit; his eyes swept down my legs once more and then traveled along the flower bed I'd been digging up. "D'ya want me ta start here, or…?" he trailed off with another nonchalant shrug.

* * *

She gave him half a smile and chuckle, and then twisted and bent down to where she'd been working. He couldn't help it as his eyes traveled the sweetly sloping curves of hips and thighs under those snug, faded jeans. All too soon she'd turned back, he was clearing his throat and looking quickly to the left, at some random tree, and he felt something light and flimsy smack him in the gut. His hands scrambled to catch the work gloves she'd tossed at him and he looked down at them before he glanced back to her.

"Dig in," she invited, before turning once more and dropping to her knees. "We need to get all of this cleared out by noon. Truck is coming from Dublin with the new bushes and I don't want them exposed to air for too long." She continued working as she spoke over her shoulder.

So he hunkered down beside her, in the dirt, and took the trowel she handed him. Mimicking her movements, he began to dig deep, and pull up what wasn't needed anymore.

* * *

I checked my watch. It was close to noon and I was starving. Tossing my trowel back into the earth, I surveyed the work that Murphy and I had accomplished. He was a hard worker, and didn't balk at heat or dirt or the strain on his muscles as he pulled the stubborn roots. What we had yanked up and out of the earth now sat in a heap next to the bed and I nodded, satisfied, and sat back on me heels.

"You hungry?" I asked, wiping my hair back from my brow and watching as he sat back.

He looked at me like I'd grown a second head. "Is tha Pope Catholic?" he quipped with a cheeky grin. "M'always hungry," he shrugged before nodding.

I laughed. I should have known, him being a teenaged boy. I had brothers. I knew how much they could eat. "I'll tell you what," I said as I stood and peeled my gloves off. "You haul this lot over to the incinerator," I began, toeing the heap of pulled roots, "an' I'll fix up somethin' ta eat."

He nodded and set to work, while I headed across the yard to Colin's house. At the back steps I stopped and unwound the hose, toeing off my work boots in the process, and then turned the water pressure high. I doused my hands and then my feet, and then aimed the stream of water to my dirt streaked arms, soaking my upper body in the process. I squealed involuntarily at the cold shock of the water, and sputtered a bit as I got a mouthful.

* * *

The sharp yelp of surprise brought Murphy's head up, and he dropped the armload of garden waste and then turned, leaning against a fencepost and watching as Márín doused herself with the hose. He guessed she hadn't been going for the full-body soak, what with the way she spat and wiped water from her eyes, but what was done was done, and Murphy shifted as his eyes took in the thin cotton of her t-shirt that suddenly clung everywhere he knew he shouldn't be looking. He threw up a cautious Hail Mary for good measure, but didn't bother averting his eyes.

Márín wrung out the length of her hair and rolled the cuffs of her jeans up to her knees, exposing shapely calves that were tanned. The golden color of her skin intrigued him – he was used to seeing pale legs, knees socks, long skirts. He licked his lips, casting a quick glance about, as if Connor might be near by call out his leering. But he was alone, save for Márín, who couldn't have known how she affected him as she pulled at the bottom of her t-shirt to wring it out and exposed a smooth, flat expanse of torso, tanned the same color of her legs. Was she that golden everywhere? Or were there tan lines, white patches on her breasts and between her thighs where a bikini sat…

His hand tightened into a fist and he suddenly gasped as a stray thorn stuck in his glove pricked him, brining his mind back to the present. Swearing sharply, he yanked the glove off and inspected his thumb, watching the blood well in the small puncture. Fascinated with the tiny pearl of blood that formed, Murphy scuffed his way across the yard. When he neared the parish house, a sharp rapping on the window brought his head up and he watched as Márín leaned out of the window and smiled.

"Do me a favour an' clean up, aye?" She nodded towards the stairs. "Hose is down there. I'll be out in a few."

* * *

I almost dropped the plates I had balanced on one hand, and I tightened my grip on the two bottles of Guinness in the other as I froze at the top of the steps. He'd shucked his shirt, tossing it over the railing of the low fence, and had obviously turned the hose on himself while I finished making sandwiches. Murphy now sat on the last step, his naked back to me, hair even darker from the water, and the waistband of his jeans soaking up the stray droplets as they dripped down his neck, his spine, and finally his waist.

He craned his head back as the screen door squealed, and he bounced to his feet, pitching half a cigarette aside and climbing halfway to meet me. "Here," he said hurriedly, reaching out to take something for me. I let him take the plates and he backed down, still looking up at me through dark lashes, and I forced myself to look anywhere but into those dangerous blue depths. My eyes landed on a tattoo on his chest, right over his heart, a scrawled script that read 'Connor'. I quirked my head as I came down the steps and motioned for him to sit.

"Who's Connor?" I asked as I dug a bottle opener from my jeans and popped the lids from the bottles. "Your Da?" I handed him a beer and he took it with a grin.

"Nah," he said, before taking a healthy sip. "Me brother," he replied. "Me twin brother."

I cleared my throat at the dangerous prospect of _two_ young men (_boys_, my mind scolded, _teenage boys_) that looked like him. "Really?" I busied myself with one of the plates and tore the sandwich there into smaller pieces.

"Not identical," he shrugged, before managing to shove half the sandwich into his mouth and top it off with another swig of beer. "Fraternal," he clarified around his full maw, though to me it sounded like 'fawdernal'.

I nodded again and gave a small gesture towards his torso. "You must be pretty close."

"Close as you can get without bein' tha same person," he summed up. He went back to munching on his sandwich. "Ya married then?" he asked, tossing his head in the direction of my left hand.

I fumbled a bit, and looked down, rubbing the plain platinum band with my thumb. "Yes." That wasn't right. "I mean, no." I sighed. "I was. Joe. He…um…he was Colin's younger brother."

Murphy paused and I saw a flicker of realization pass over his eyes. So young, I thought, and yet strangely worldly. "Sorry," he murmured sincerely.

I took a breath and nodded. "Thank you." His next question caught me off guard.

"How old are ya?"

* * *

He'd always been told that it was best not to ask a woman her age, a woman who appeared older than he was, anyway, but he had to do something to steer the subject away from what he guessed was a deceased husband. He said the first thing that came to mind, mentally smacking himself when her green eyes, which weren't completely green when she was this close, but more of a green with tiny flecks of gold and mahogany in them, widened.

"Sorry," he quickly backpedalled. "I shouldn't have asked ya that…"

She laughed and shook her head, setting her plate aside and concentrating on her beer. "It's okay." She leaned towards him with a conspiring grin. "How old do you _think_ I am?"

Murphy stuck the edge of his thumb between his teeth and worried the skin there for a bit before rubbing along his bottom lip. When he looked back up, he found her eyes fixated on his mouth and he licked the blood from the thorn before pulling his hand away. Her eyes flashed back to his and he saw her cheekbones flush. "Dunno," he said hoarsely. "Uh…twenty-five?"

She blinked at him slowly, and then she let out a raucous scream of laughter, and sagged against the steps as his words sank in. Murphy shifted, not quite sure what the joke was, but Márín's laughter soon died down enough that she could speak. "Ah, bless you, Murphy MacManus."

"I take it my guess was wrong?"

Márín snorted. "Aye, a bit. But let's just go with I'm older than you, right?" She winked with good nature and picked up the last bit of her sandwich.

"Aye," Murphy rasped before swilling the remainder of his beer.

* * *

We didn't go back to work, not right away, and instead enjoyed the fair weather of the afternoon. The truck with the new rosebushes still hadn't arrived by the time I brought out coffee, thinking it wise to only offer _one_ beer to the young man. Murphy still hadn't put on his shirt; the slight breeze that was still holding on to winter's chill fluttered the ends of his dark hair. In the May sunlight, it wasn't just dark brown, but almost russet in places, not quite auburn, and I could tell by looking at it that it would be thick between my fingers.

I watched as his hands patted down his jeans and then he arched his hips up from the step where he'd perched, digging his hand down into his pocket. I quickly looked away. I'd seen the soft, downy dark hair of adulthood that had whorled gently around his navel and scolded myself for noticing. He wasn't even eighteen; if I wasn't a god-fearing woman before, I had a feeling that I'd be confessing sins I had only committed in my mind. I heard the flick and rasp of a lighter, and I smelled the spicy smoke of burning cloves.

"Ya smoke?" he asked lightly, and while I could have answered him with my eyes trained on the Garden Centre truck that was _finally_ trundling up the drive, I found that I had to look at him. And when I did, those eyes snared me, held me close, and dared me to look away.

I nodded. He nodded, too, and handed me the cigarette he'd just lit, pulling it from between soft lips that couldn't have kissed that many girls and handing it to me. He then lit another one. My hand shook as I raised that cigarette to my lips – it felt even more forbidden than my first real smoke when I was twelve years old. I swore that I couldn't taste anything on the damp filter, save for the coffee and the sweetness of tobacco, but my tongue touched the end like it might be his tongue and I felt a longing I hadn't felt in ages.

"Truck is here," I managed to get out, motioning to the drive.

Murphy's eyes narrowed, focusing on my mouth once more before lifting to my gaze. "Aye. T'is."

I forced a carefree smile to mask the sudden conflict of emotions that threatened to spill over. Joe's face flashed in my mind, young and handsome in his own way, but tame, and unfettered. Safe. Calm. The complete opposite of the insolent dark haired boy before me. "Lots of work to do," I continued dumbly, moving to greet the driver that had stepped down from the pick up.

"Márín," Murphy rasped.

It was the first time he'd said my name since I'd met him that morning and it sent a chill down my spine. A warning, maybe, but even at thirty-two (Murphy had grossly under-estimated my age), I ignored it and instead tossed him a look over my shoulder, my eyelashes fluttering.

"Thanks. Fer lunch." He smiled faintly and then took off up the drive, moving past me, maybe brushing his bare shoulder against me as he did.

"Aye," I said softly behind him, unable to tear my eyes from the back of his jeans, the smooth line of his spine, the strong spread of his shoulders.

I must have started believing in God right then and there – because certainly, I was going straight to hell. And you can't have one without the other.

* * *

Murphy lay awake that night, worrying the small punctures he'd received from the thorns on the new rose bushes. It seemed as though Márín kept her distance for the rest of the afternoon, meeting his gaze only to look away, and he was fairly certain she was _blushing_ as she did so. He didn't have kind of effect on _women_. It puzzled him, made him shift against the fleece blanket under his back. Across the room, Connor snored peacefully, having filled up on dinner and then filled Murphy in on his afternoon outing with both Katie and Molly.

Normally, Murphy would have snapped, shoved Connor and told him to shut his mouth when it came to Katie. After all, _everyone_ knew that Katie Hannigan had a thing for Murphy and that Murphy had, on occasion, kissed her after school or a winning baseball game. It wasn't like he'd got a hand down or anything, but he knew Katie was hopeful. Up until that morning, he had been, too.

His mind shifted to Márín. She wasn't other-worldly beautiful, or exotic, or really anything overly special. But she _was_ different; different from the _girls_ that flocked after him and Connor on a daily basis. Girls always wanted to kiss and hold hands and giggle and gossip with other girls, and made time for silly things like how much of a bob Bono was and who was going into town for a new lipstick on Saturday. Márín was most definitely _not_ a girl. She'd even been married, once, and Murphy winced as he recalled that stilted conversation.

Clearing his head, he concentrated on the image of Márín that afternoon, dousing herself good with the hose, rolling up her jeans and t-shirt, piling all of that wonderful golden hair on top of her head. She'd brought him beer, and food, two things that rated highly in young Murphy's mind, but the thing that got him the most was how easily she accepted the cigarette that had been in his mouth. That was close to kissing, as close as he dared think, at least when it came to her. Jayzuz, Mary, n'Joseph, she was Father McMahon's sister in law, a guest in his house, and Murphy's thoughts were focused on the way her lips pursed around the filter of his clove cigarette and how he'd caught her looking at him. _Really_ looking at him, like when she thought he wouldn't notice. _That_ was when she reminded him of a girl, reminded him that he was a male, she was a female, and then his mind _really_ started to wander.

She'd know how to kiss – how would she do it? These girls that dogged his steps were all teeth and rubbery lips, sloppy kisses with little finesse. Márín, he decided, would be sweet, pliant, but not a pushover, and would no doubt be able to teach him a thing or two.

The girls he knew wore cotton panties, nothing flashy, white, or maybe pale pink or yellow, except for Siobhan Finnegan who was notorious for wearing red or nothing at all. He'd had a go, decided she wasn't for him – she liked too many guys at one time, his brother included. What did Márín wear under her jeans?

He'd heard rumors, too, from the guys on the baseball team who had older brothers that some girls actually shaved down there. Murphy didn't know what he thought about that, couldn't make heads or tails of finally having a woman under his hand only to discover she looked like a child.

He bet her tits felt amazing; he was fairly certain she wasn't wearing a bra that afternoon. And her legs. And her thighs. Christ, her _hips_. Girls, he decided, were all awkward angles, gangly limbs, unshaped, plain. Women, on the other hand, and particularly Márín, were wickedly curved, soft and yielding, firm when it was needed. He huffed as he felt the beginnings of a hard on, images of Márín's bare calves and bare stomach flitting through his mind.

"What's got ya all in a twist, Murph?" Connor's soft voice floated up from his bed.

Murphy frowned when he realized he'd crossed one ankle over his knee and was bouncing the lot on his mattress. "Feck off," Murphy muttered, not interested in anything else Connor had to say.

"Ya tossin' one off over there?" Connor snickered. "Hail Mary, at least pull the blanket up…"

"Lay off," Murphy grumbled, rolling under his blanket and turning his back to Connor.

Connor was silent for a moment, and then his voice came back, soft and cautious. "Ya know…Katie wouldn't shut up about ya all day. Kept goin' on about how fine y'are. Wanted ta box her ears at one point, but Molly wouldn't let me."

Murphy had to chuckle. He knew Connor was telling the truth, about all of it, but he also knew it was Connor's way of clearing any bad air between them. Murphy wasn't really upset about that. He wasn't actually sure what he was upset about at all. But Connor knew him, almost better than he knew himself, and for that, Murphy was thankful. "I woulda let ya," Murphy muttered around another chuckle.

"Aye. Well, Katie says she wants ta talk to ya after service tomorrow. Told her that'd be okay."

Murphy nodded, finally feeling his eyelids drooping. "Aye," he yawned. "That will do well enough."

* * *

Joe had been the one to teach me how to roll a bifter. I giggled at the thought as I did just that at Colin's kitchen table that night. Big brother Colin the Catholic priest didn't have the slightest clue that his little brother Joe was more into chugging pints and smoking weed than he was the Catholic faith. I didn't feel the least bit of guilt as I threaded the paper and licked the seam shut; perhaps that's why I didn't think I'd make a very good Catholic: I didn't believe in guilt. It was self inflicted. I halted on that thought, my mind wandering to that afternoon. No, I definitely didn't feel _guilt_, but I didn't know what that gnawing in my gut was each time I looked at Murphy.

At first, I thought it was because I was lonely. I pushed that thought away; I knew loneliness better from being married than from being widowed. I'd married Joe because he'd been sweet, and kind, and cared for me like no other man had. I loved him. But I wasn't _in_ love with him. He was gentle and sweet, and attentive in the bedroom, but I never really felt _desired_. I certainly didn't inspire any panty-ripping or frantic, frenzied quickies in the front hall while he was on his way out to work. My best girl Jenny had me crazy jealous as she regaled me with tale upon tale of her own sordid encounters, and they were all with the _same_ man, her husband of almost ten years. They were in love, in _lust_, and it made me shrewd.

In the end, we'd both grown distant, though Joe had tried his best to keep the lines of communication open. He'd died suddenly, from an aneurysm, and when it should have felt as if my heart had been torn open, that my life had been blown to pieces, I mourned him, but I mourned the loss of myself, more. We'd been married five years. I didn't recognize the face that stared back at me in the mirror last fall when Joe had died. Jenny had been there, had been my rock, reassuring me that it would get better, that I could move past this, but really, she didn't know. No one really knew, certainly not Joe, of how I didn't feel about him.

Still, the guilt never came.

_Perhaps this is guilt come to haunt you_, my mind hissed as I sat on Colin's back step and lit the bifter and took a long hit. _Dark-haired and sullen with a tiny mole at the corner of his mouth_. I'd done a lot of staring at Murphy's mouth that afternoon. And his hands. He always seemed to be touching his mouth, smoking or otherwise, and it drew my attention every time. And of course, every time he caught me staring, I looked away, but my traitorous eyes strayed to the chest he didn't bother to cover up after lunch. By the time five o'clock rolled around, he'd turned pink across his shoulders, freckles rising in the sun's wake, and I longed to count each one.

He looked at me like I was something to be had.

He looked at me like I was something to be _wanted_.

I wondered what his mouth would taste like; what it would feel like to kiss him. Would he know what he was doing? It looked like he'd kissed a girl or two; he was too devil-may-care good looking to not have had some heavy petting under his belt. Would his hands be soft, cautious? Or would he be bold and brash, the unchecked lust of youth driving him? Was he a virgin?

The very thought of him never having been with a woman suddenly had me heated and pulsing between my thighs and I sucked in a breath, pinching off the joint. I exhaled the last hit with a shuddering sigh and tilted my head back, planting my elbows on the step behind me, and leaning towards the starry sky.

Would I have to teach him? Guide him, his hands, fingers, lips, tongue, to do what pleased me? Would he be a quick learner? Did I still know what pleased me?

I shook my already hazy head. This was dangerous ground. But in my altered state, my mind was off and running, and each breath I took only served to make the fantasy swell and become more vivid. I thought of his mouth on my skin, his tongue flicking over my nipple, down my belly, further still, his dark head tilting up, his blue eyes narrowed with apt concentration. He was a quick learner, and a hard worker, two things that could be disastrous under the right circumstances.

I thought of him below me, letting me take every inch of him inside, holding him snug, seeing the awe on his face as he felt that warmth and wetness for the first time. What would he look like when he came?

Christ, I was out of control. I frowned, suddenly realizing that the weed was _not_ having the desired relaxing effect on me. I tore up the steps then, back into Colin's kitchen, and raided the icebox. Plunking down in front of the telly, I plugged in the latest episode of C.A.T.S. Eyes.

The last thing I remembered that night was wondering if he was thinking about me, the way I was thinking about him.


	2. Chapter 2

Murphy craned his neck from his seat in the pew next to Connor, his blue eyes scanning the gathering congregation. The Sunday service was set to start at ten am sharp; Father Bryce presiding as Father McMahon was in the city still. Murphy watched familiar faces pile into pews: boys from school and his baseball team, Mr. Graham from the butcher shop, Mr. and Mrs. Keefe from over the way, Molly Macklemore, Connor's current love interest…

"She's right over there," Connor muttered.

Murphy looked to his twin and quickly glanced in the direction indicated, looking for long golden hair and clear green eyes. Of course, Connor wouldn't have known Márín form the Virgin Mary, so Murphy didn't know why he was surprised to see Katie Hannigan instead. She tossed her strawberry blonde curls and smiled prettily enough, and Murphy gave a small wave that sent her giggling and turning towards Molly to whisper excitedly. Murphy heaved a small sigh and sagged back against the pew, disappointed. Why wasn't Márín in church?

After service, he searched even more, but it was in vain, too. He had thought maybe she was running a little late, perhaps slipped in after the service had started, taken up a seat along the back wall, but nothing. She wasn't there. As he shuffled down the steps behind Connor and Ma, he eyed Father McMahon's house across the yard, wondering if she was there. He actually took two steps in the direction of the small abode before a high, sweet voice stopped him in his tracks.

"Hi, Muprhy," Katie Hannigan trilled. She appeared at his side seconds later, smiling up at him with bright white teeth that pulled at her bottom lip.

"Hello, Katie," he offered, friendly enough. His eyes wandered back to Father McMahon's house.

"We're goin' down ta Donnelly's fer somethin' ta eat," Katie continued, touching Murphy's hand to get his attention once more.

"Eh?" Murphy looked back, realizing he hadn't heard a word she'd said.

"Me an' Molly an' Connor. We're goin' ta Donnelly's," she repeated, still smiling. She wouldn't let his lack of attention to her discourage her. "An' I thought you'd like to join us?"

"Uh," he paused, flicking his gaze once more to Father McMahon's home before focusing on Katie. "I guess," he shrugged.

Her smile broadened, as did her hope. School was almost over and she'd absolutely _die_ if Murphy asked her to the spring formal. Gazing up into his face, she noticed that he seemed a mite distracted, his dreamy blue eyes trailing over to the parish house and then back again. "Um," she said with a nervous little laugh. "I guess we should…go find your brother an' Molly," she suggested.

"Aye," Murphy nodded absently. His mind was otherwise occupied, but he followed Katie anyway, letting himself be led to where Connor and Molly were waiting by Molly's mother's sedan.

"Eh, ya tracked 'im down, good fer ya," Connor exclaimed, throwing an arm over Murphy's shoulder and giving him a punch in the ribs. "Bastard's been distracted all mornin', aye? No bother; let's go get somethin' ta eat – I'm fuckin' starvin'!"

Both girls giggled at Connor's antics, undeniably cute and brash, and the four teenagers piled into the sedan, Connor talking his way behind the wheel. They were off, then, headed towards town, U2 blasting on the radio, and the windows wide open in the cool spring air.

* * *

I heard the church bells ringing that morning and groaned, thankful for once that Colin wasn't home to bustle about cheerfully while he prepared for service. I never faulted Colin for the love and respect he had for his job; in fact, I often complimented him on it, but that morning after too much ice cream and too many distorted dreams, I was certain I wouldn't have been able to handle his chipper mood.

I stood under the shower doing a fair impression of a zombie, staring at the beige tiles while water poured down my back. When I felt a little more refreshed, I stepped out, padded to bedroom and dressed, and then set about making coffee. From the kitchen window I gazed out at the church, noting that there weren't many cars in the lot. The sun was shining warmly, however, and I guessed that many people had walked here. I'd walk to town then, I decided, obviously after service. No point in going into town when everyone was here for the morning. Not many shops would be open, anyway, but I liked to walk around the old buildings, some still standing from a few centuries past, and watch the drovers turn their sheep in the adjacent fields. It cleared my head.

An hour later, the church bells rang again, signalling the end of service, and I stood at the kitchen window, watching now as people filed out of the church and into the yard. Several took the time to admire the new rosebushes and I smiled. That was when I saw him. Murphy stood slouching against the stone wall next to the main steps, hands in the pockets of his dark dress slacks, dark head craning from side to side, scanning the crowd, as a petite redhead girl in a pretty green dress stood before him, gawking up at his face. I saw him look to her, shrug, and then she took his hand and pulled him around to the parking lot, where he piled into a sedan with the redhead and another boy and girl his age. The car sped off in the direction of town, and I was left holding the dregs of my coffee.

It was only a twenty minute walk to town, but I took my time anyway, enjoying the smell of new grass and turned earth, one of the many reasons gardening was my hobby. I'd all but jumped at the chance to replant the rose bushes at the parish; Colin knew me all too well when he'd casually mentioned that it needed to be done. I waved to a few smaller boys on horseback, them being no older than eight or nine, and continued on my way. Once in town on Main Street, I wandered up one side, pausing at store windows and staring in if the shop was closed, wandering in to browse if they were open. I wasn't looking for anything in particular. At least, I didn't think I was.

* * *

"M'goin' fer a smoke," Murphy mumbled, sliding from the booth in Donnelly's he shared with Katie, Connor, and Molly. When Katie moved to go with him, he gave her a small smile. "Be right back," he assured her, glancing quickly to Connor.

Connor knew the look on his brother's face – it screamed 'I need some fuckin' space before I brain someone.' Hiding a smirk, Connor caught Katie's arm and hauled her in next to him, prattling on about needing her to stay and share a Coke float with him since Molly didn't like them.

Free of incessant chatter, Murphy sighed as he stepped outside into the sunlight, and then ducked around the corner to the alley. Ma knew he smoked, but he didn't feel the need to flaunt it in front of her friends who would most definitely report back: 'I saw yer boy Murphy smokin' down at Donnelly's the other day'. Truth was every kid in school smoked; that didn't make it okay, but he liked to keep some things to himself. Passing by the glazed window of the shop next door, he paused, catching his reflection.

He hated Church for no reason other than the need to dress up. He was sure Connor felt the same; Ma insisted that they both tame their wild heads of hair into some order before leaving the house. Connor had mussed his via the open window on the car. Katie hadn't wanted the window in the back open, fearing it would make her curls frizz, so Murphy had suffered. Now, he drew his long fingers back and forth through the longish mop of dark hair, ruffling the ends and making it a little bit more…_Murphy_. He grinned. Then, he loosened the plain navy tie and undid the first two buttons of his pale blue dress shirt and rolled the sleeves up to his forearms. He drew out his prized possession from his shirt pocket: a pair of knock off Ray-Ban Wayfarers, and slid them into place. Flashing another grin at his reflection, he fiddled with his shirt collar, flipping it up and then down, turning one way and then another, completely lost in his own little world.

* * *

"Something decadent, after confessin' our sins," Mr. O'Brien announced as he weighed out a measure of chocolate covered espresso beans. He winked at me. "Didn't see ya at church this mornin', Márín," he pointed out.

I actually blushed as the elderly gentleman regarded me with a small smile. "Yeah," I muttered. "Slept in."

He gave a little laugh and shook his head, pouring the coffee beans into a small cellophane bag and tying it off with a small piece of ribbon. "Not judgin' ya, lass," he reassured, moving to the cash register. "Though I doubt ya could sleep through them bells." He winked and punched in a few numbers. "Anything else?"

"I'll look around for a minute, thank you," I replied, turning to his small confectionary. The coffee beans were an indulgence, and Colin liked them, so really, they were more for him. I didn't really think I'd find anything else, wandering up and down the narrow aisles, looking at the colourful penny candies, the rock sugar, bottled sodas, chunks of Swiss chocolate and coconut coated marshmallows. As I passed the front window, movement outside caught my eye and I paused. My mouth went dry as Murphy MacManus stopped directly in front of me and began fiddling with his hair before slipping on a pair of sunglasses and flipping his collar.

The light was behind him, so it was reflecting off the glass on his side – he didn't see me watching his every movement, which was a relief. I couldn't look away. In less than ten seconds he went from looking like a choir boy to being this rebellious young man full of cheek. His smile was infectious, something that slid under my skin and brushed against a part of me that hadn't been reached in some time. I didn't know what that part was – I didn't know if it had actually ever been reached before; and as I stood watching him, I fell for him, just a little bit. I suddenly needed to see him, and for him to see me, to talk to me, to look at me like he had yesterday. As soon as he dug his cigarettes out, I turned back to the cash register and Mr. O'Brien.

"Just the coffee beans, thank ya," I smiled, handing him the right change and taking my purchase.

"Have a good day," he called after me as I all but ran from the shop.

I slowed to a walk as I rounded the corner and I stopped, flicking my gaze at an oblivious Murphy before digging into my purse for my own cigarettes. "Gotta light?" I called out.

* * *

Murphy choked and sputtered on the first inhale of his cigarette, scrambling across the pavement and looking to his left as if caught red handed doing something extremely naughty. His mouth hung open, cigarette clenched in his fingers, as his brain skittered to form some semblance of greeting. It was _her_. He'd spent all morning looking for her to no avail and here she was, looking calm and cool, having found him instead.

"What?" he gaped, not having a word she'd said.

She smiled and his guts flipped a little. She held up her cigarette – unlit – and asked again, "Do you have a light?"

Murphy nodded mutely and dug into his pants pocket, pulling it out. His hand was sweaty; he fumbled with the lid on the damn thing, finally flicking it open, but it took him three tries to get a flame going. He was too busy concentrating on Márín.

She looked so different than she had yesterday. Yesterday she'd been covered in dirt, worn clothes, sweat…not that it had deterred his imagination later that night. But now, taking in the smooth waves of hair, pinned back at the sides to reveal a heart shaped face, and the simple yellow cotton sundress she wore, Murphy was certain he had a lifetime of images to look upon for… _inspiration_. He looked her from head to toe again, noticing the simple brown leather sandals she wore. And the dress showed even more skin than he'd seen yesterday. Her shoulders, her collarbone and upper chest, were just as tanned as her legs and torso, and he was fairly certain she was that golden color on every inch of her body.

"Why are ya standin' out here smokin'?" she asked, gesturing to the alley where they currently stood.

Murphy shrugged, trying his hardest to look unaffected. "Didn't feel like talkin' to anyone," he replied smoothly.

Márín seemed to pause in her next sentence and took half a step back. "Oh," she said softly. "I…I'm sorry," she said next, turning to leave.

Murphy sucked in a sharp breath, and before he knew it, his hand was out and landing on her shoulder to halt her retreat. Jayzus, Mary, n'Joseph, she was _warm_. And smooth. Like…like the caramel fudge Mr. O'Brien sold on Saturdays. Did she taste as sweet? The straps of the sundress were tied at the tops of her shoulders. They were skinny, barely there, and clearly, she wasn't wearing a bra.

Márín turned at his touch and looked up into his eyes. The yellow dress she wore turned her irises more gold than green, and Murphy's voice got tangled around his words. He cleared his throat quickly. "I didn't mean…ya can stay," he clarified. "I don't mind. Talkin' to ya." His teeth pulled at his bottom lip and it was then that he realized he was still holding onto her shoulder. He snatched his hand away quickly, feeling a blush tint his ears.

* * *

I smiled at what I guessed was his version of a compliment. I was starting to get the idea that Murphy was a man of few words (_teenage boy!_ My brain hissed in reminder). I shrugged it off. The spot on my shoulder where he'd touched me still tingled; as I leaned back against the brick wall and smoked beside him, I tried to think of another time when someone, Joe or otherwise, had affected me with such minimal physical contact. My shoulder wasn't even an erogenous zone but it felt like he'd branded it. I felt my grip on rationality slowly begin to slip.

"Ya weren't in church this mornin'," he said after a bit of silence.

I laughed, glancing towards him, and he turned to look at me as I did. He may have been wearing those sunglasses, but I could feel his gaze settling on me. His mouth did a funny thing, no doubt wondering why I was laughing, so I cleared the air.

"You're the second person to tell me that today."

Murphy's mouth slid up into half a grin and he shrugged before sucking on his cigarette again. Youth may still have softened his features, but the cut of his cheekbones as his cheeks hollowed out on the inhale was lethal. "Perfectly reasonable question," he replied.

And it was. I told him as much and let it hang in the air for a bit, not commenting at all on my absence in church.

"Suppose ya can do what ya please," he said after another comfortable silence. He turned his body towards me then, leaning against the brick with one shoulder. He blew out a stream of smoke and flicked the butt end of his fagg aside before crossing his arms over his chest. His blue eyes peeked over the rim of his sunglasses and he did a thorough job of giving me a once over. "Yer a grown woman," he purred, finishing off with a cheeky grin.

Something about what he said, the way he said it, or the fact that I took it out of context, made me bristle. Yes, he was right, I _was_ a grown woman. What the fuck was I doing smoking in an alley like a silly teenager? I dropped my half-finished cigarette with a disgusted frown at my expense, and crushed it with me heel. "Yeah," I muttered. I turned from the alley, unsure of what else to say – embarrassed of what I _might_ say if I stuck around. I quickly turned up Main Street, ignoring the weight of his stare behind me.

* * *

Murphy blinked at the empty space Márín had occupied only half a minute before. Shit, what had he said that made her close up like that? He wracked his brain, rolling their simple conversation around in his head, checking for anything weird. Had the remark about her not going to church struck a nerve? It was the only thing he could think of. Maybe she didn't go because it reminded her of her husband…who was dead – not that she'd outright admitted it, but it made the most sense. That had to have been what pissed her off. Murphy groaned, his gut cramping with worry, and that made him feel even more off kilter – he usually didn't give two shits when a girl got in a snit about something he did – or didn't – do, or say. But Márín was different. He'd established that last night.

"Fuck," he muttered, pushing off of the wall and tailing after her. He glanced up and down Main Street, but didn't see her. She'd most likely ducked into one of the shops. He was prepared to scout out each one, if he had to, but suddenly his brother was calling his name and clapping him on the back.

"Jayzus, Mary, n'Joseph, Murph, what the feck is takin' so long?" Connor elbowed his darker half in the ribs. "Stuck me wit' tha bill an' all!"

Murphy growled. "Bullshit, yer fuckin' broke, always are," he snapped, and at that, Molly giggled.

"You're right, Murph," she shrugged. "But I don't mind, really. C'mon, I need to start headin' back, yeah? Ma's makin' roast lamb t'night and I have the honor of peelin' taters."

"Ooh, we should stop by Macklepenny's on the way!" Katie proclaimed, bouncing on her toes. "They got their new summer colors in on Friday!"

This made both Murphy and Connor groan. Colors, and that of any season, when a girl was talking about them, could only mean one of two things: makeup, or dresses. Or maybe sweaters. Or whatever else came in seasonal colors. But the two girls were already skipping excitedly across the street, and as the MacManus brothers followed, Murphy scanned the street, hoping to see the sway of a pale yellow sundress or long, golden colored waves.

"Y'all right, brudder?" Connor asked as they took up post outside of Macklpenny's Drugstore and lit another cigarette each.

"M'fine," Murphy shrugged, knowing that as soon as the word left his mouth, Connor would know something was up.

"Yer a terrible fuckin' liar, Murph, an' ya know it." Connor nudged Murphy again and lowered his voice. "Come on, aye? Tell Connor what's got ya in a twist."

Murphy smiled fondly at his brother's use of the third person when referring to himself, and sucked on his cigarette for a spell. "I don't know if I really like Katie anymore." That was the truth – part of it, anyway. The other part, the one that churned his guts and made him feel excited and petrified at the same time he kept to himself for the time being. He glanced to Connor who had focused his stare across the street.

The fairer twin nodded sagely. "Aye…ya have seemed a little out of sorts this weekend." Connor shrugged. "So what, then?" He pushed off the wall, turning to face Murphy. "S'not the end o'tha world, aye? So ya don't like her; yer not obligated. Christ, Murph, ya haven't even gone on a date yet."

"Lord's name," Murphy mumbled, taking another drag from his cigarette. "An' I think she wants me ta ask her ta tha spring formal, Conn." He shook his head, and ran a hand through the dishevelled waves. "I don't want to."

Connor grinned and flicked his spent fagg to the side. "So don't," he replied smoothly. "Means I can take 'em both." He winked for good measure.

Murphy rolled his eyes, knowing that despite his sunglasses, Connor would catch the gesture. "Aye, thanks, brudder, yer a stand up lad, ya know that?"

Connor chuckled and leaned back against the wall, and they both stood there and talked about trivial things until the girls appeared again. The four moved off back across the street towards Molly's borrowed sedan and piled in to make the trip back to the village.

* * *

The heat and humidity grew as soon as I was out of the town limits, and I was glad for the flimsy sundress and sandals. Already I'd begun to sweat, my pace faster now than it had been on the way in that morning. _Stupid_, I scolded myself. God, I'd been so stupid! What was I thinking? What was I hoping would happen? I shook my head, my mind wandering again to Murphy and the low rumble of his young voice. This was ridiculous, I rationalized. _You're only acting this way because he pays attention to you_.

Sighing, I halted my march home and sagged against a random fencepost lining the field I was walking next to. "Acting this way," I growled out loud to the grass and honeysuckle that lined the ditch, "makes you look like a fuckin' teenager." Did I really turn on my heel and just leave in a huff? I groaned at my immaturity. I might as well have stuck out my tongue for good measure. I did it then, alone in the field, and blew a raspberry, too. Then I dug into my purse and found the bag of chocolate espresso beans. Fumbling with the ribbon, I snagged a handful and threw them all in my mouth, munching methodically. I had to chuckle – I'd just run away from a teenage boy because he hurt my feelings.

Christ, it really didn't matter how old one got, did it? Male and female…every interaction is fucked up in one way or another. I chewed a few more coffee beans and pushed off the post, wandering back along the road, this time lost in thought. Black clouds, heavy with rain, were building up in the east, and I could smell the moisture in the air. Hopefully, it would stay away until I got back into the village.

* * *

Murphy sat in the back seat of the sedan, listening to the idle chit chat between Kate, Molly, and Connor. He shifted, tugging at his collar, frowning at the heat and humidity. Molly refused to turn on the A/C as it sucked gas, and Katie was _still_ worried about her curls frizzing up. Pushing a damp hank of hair from his forehead, Murphy yanked ruthlessly at his tie and finally dislodged the knot, and then stuffed the length of it into his pocket. He clutched an unopened bottle of cream soda in his other hand – Katie and Molly had picked up sodas for the ride back, but he hadn't bothered to open his. Instead he tapped it against his knee, agitated by heat, chipper voices, giggling, the loud radio, and the yellow sundress they just blew by.

He sat up suddenly, and craned his head back to stare out the back window, squinting at the lone figure on the side of the rode as it got smaller and smaller.

"Stop tha car," he heard himself say, and he twisted back in the seat in time to see Connor swivel from the front and stare at him.

"Wha?" Connor asked, clearly confused.

Murphy's hand was already wrapped around the handle; he'd forgone a seatbelt to begin with. "I said stop tha fuckin' car," he growled again, sharper this time, and he heard Katie gasp from beside him.

Molly made a noise of protest, glancing at Connor, but Connor merely shook his head and nodded to the shoulder. "Pull over, lass, aye?"

Once the car was stopped, Murphy shoved the door open and stepped out, the heat and humidity a mite better than the back seat of the sedan. He leaned into the car, looking at his brother. "M'walkin tha rest of the way," he explained before slamming the door shut and turning back up the road.

Inside, Katie gaped and squeaked her concern. "What? Connor, what does he mean he's walkin' the rest of the way?"

Connor narrowed his eyes at his brother's back as it headed back up the road the way they had just come from. Finally, he looked to Katie and shrugged sympathetically. "Suppose it means he's walkin' tha rest of the way, Katie. Ya know Murph, he likes his space," Connor reasoned, looking back at his brother's retreating form.

Murphy trudged up the gravel, having recognized the flash of yellow as they drove past it. Márín was headed back to the village on foot, he just knew it, and he'd be damned if he'd let her do it while angry with him for some silly reason. He hastened his steps, keeping his eyes fixed as he grew closer. She wasn't really paying attention to the road; her eyes swept along the pastures that bordered the gravel way. She seemed a million miles away. He broke into a light jog, not knowing what he'd say when he got within earshot, just knowing that he had to say _something_. _Anything_. Anything to get her to look at him like she had yesterday; anything that would give him another reason to touch her skin, see her smile, hear her voice.

* * *

I paid little attention to the car that sped past me, radio blaring from the open windows. My mind was too busy trying to make heads or tails out of my emotional turmoil. Hadn't I been wondering what it was like to feel like this? To be _giddy_ about someone, to have them make me feel? But why _him_? Unattainable, unreasonable, unorthodox, undoing, undeniable…I shut my eyes tightly. "Fuck," I muttered, kicking at the loose stones on the shoulder.

"Jesus _Christ_," I hissed sharply a few moments later. The longer I walked, the worse my thoughts became, and as soon as the curse was out of my mouth, I was startled out of my trance when another voice answered:

"Lord's name."

I stopped short, skidding on the gravel, and almost swallowed my tongue as Murphy MacManus stood before me for the _second_ time that day. I blinked incredulously. Where the hell had he come from? I tilted my head past his and saw a car pulling away from the shoulder and disappearing over the rise of a small hill. I looked back to him, wide eyed, waiting for an explanation.

"I saw yer dress," he offered, gesturing towards me.

I looked down at the yellow sundress and smoothed out the skirt. "Excuse me?" I blinked up at him again.

"Yer dress. It's yellow – I saw it while I was…while we were drivin' by…" he trailed off, shifting, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. "Are ya mad at me?"

His words took me by surprise – he looked uncomfortable with the prospect that I might be upset with him and he chewed his bottom lip. He shrugged and nodded back in the direction of town. "Back there, then…I mean, ya took off. Did I upset ya?"

I groaned and shook my head, looking down at my hands. Figures – here I was all but flagellating myself for having slightly impure thoughts about a teenager and he was worried I was mad at him. "No," I sighed, looking back to him. "No, Murphy, I'm not mad at you."

He nodded and shoved a hand in his pocket, jingling the contents. His other hand tapped a glass bottle of soda against his belt buckle for a moment. He turned and glanced out over the field beside. "It's just that ya took off so quickly." He looked back to me. "Ya didn't even say goodbye."

"I'm tired," I lied, "and it's hot. Makes for a bad mood. I just wanted to head back home."

Murphy nodded. "Aye…well…I'm headed that way too, yeah? Can I walk with ya?"

"You gave up a ride in a car with air conditioning to walk home with me?" I asked flatly.

He grinned crookedly. "Too stuffy in tha car," he reasoned. He leaned a fraction closer and looked at me from over the rim of his sunglasses once more. "An' tha company wasn't nearly as pretty."

* * *

It was out there: he'd said it. He'd said she was pretty and the words were out there, on the air, already in her ears and processing as her small smile fell just the tiniest bit. He couldn't take those words back, but he wasn't so sure he wanted to. He toed the gravel for a moment before he took a step in the direction of the village. "C'mon, then," he said. "B'fore that rain catches up with us, aye?" He started off at an easy pace.

He heard her fall into step beside him, and there was a rustling of plastic before he heard her voice. "Espresso bean?"

He looked to where she held out a small cellophane bag to him. "Is this a peace offerin', then?"

The tiniest blush appeared on her cheeks. "I didn't realize we were at war."

"Yer defences are up," he pointed out, and she froze mid-step and gaped at him.

"They are not," she countered smartly.

Murphy shrugged and dug his hand into the bag, fishing out a few coffee beans. "If ya say so." He glanced back in time to see her narrow her eyes at him and he chuckled at her expression. "I'm hittin' all yer buttons t'day, aren't I?"

She sputtered again and then let out a huff before munching on some coffee beans herself, muttering something about infuriating males and stupid mind tricks.

"I figure if we're gonna be workin' t'gether these next few weekends, we should at least be friends," he said a while later. They were halfway to the village and he glanced back over his shoulder, noticing the clouds were advancing on them. He still thought they'd make it before it started raining, and he turned back to Márín, waiting for a reply.

"Friends," she mumbled quietly. "I think acquaintances is a better word."

"Better?" Murphy echoed.

"Safer," Márín reasoned.

"Safer," Murphy repeated slowly.

"Forget it," Márín replied, picking up her pace.

He watched the skirt of her dress sway as she moved up the road and then jogged to catch up. "Márín, wait," he chuckled as he hooked her elbow and pulled her to a stop.

She whirled, pulling out of his grip, a troubled look pulling her pretty features down. "Look, Murphy, you're a really nice kid, and I liked working with you the other day…"

He heard her words, but only one registered with him. "Kid," he growled, cocking an eyebrow. He scoffed and now it was his turn to walk ahead.

"Shit," she cursed behind him. "Murphy, wait, I didn't mean…"

He glanced back at her, mouth terse. "What – ya didn't mean I was nice? Or ya didn't mean I was a nice _kid_?"

"No, Murphy, of course you're nice, it's just that you're…you're just…"

Murphy stopped walking and turned to face Márín. "I'm 'just' what?" he ground out slowly. He took a step forward, and Márín took one back, trying to keep their distance respectable. "I'm just _what_?" he growled again, advancing on her. The closer he moved, the further she stepped back, until he'd backed her off the road and she jolted against a fencepost at her back.

"I…" she gaped up at him as he continued to move closer. She shook her head, her hands coming up to his shoulders in a half-hearted attempt to stop him.

Murphy did stop, but only at the realization that the force Márín was using was minimal, and her fingertips curled into his chest. His smile grew a fraction larger.

* * *

I could never keep my hands to myself. Not when I truly wanted something. The want for Murphy outweighed my want to keep things sane and I grabbed his shoulders as he loomed towards me, keeping him from doing something we might both regret. He was close enough that I could smell the soap he used. I saw my reflection in the lenses of his sunglasses, looking stunned, flushed, and utterly cornered. I told myself I felt nothing as his knee brushed gently against my thigh, and that I didn't like the firm feel of his muscles beneath my fingertips. I braced myself; his smile, that slow crawling tilt of his full bottom lip did little to help my resolve.

I mustered my best smile, placating, pleasant, friendly…I poured every platonic emotion I could into it, and it felt fake the whole time I did it. "You're seventeen," I breathed, looking up at him.

He was silent for a split second, and then he snorted, his shoulders rising with the sound. Then, he reached and pulled his sunglasses off and fixed me with a sinuous, bold stare that left me burning in all the right places. He moved in quickly, causing my breath to catch, and the heat that came off of him was intoxicating. I soon became aware of his lips hovering next to my ear, his breath mingling with the humidity in the air. His next words left me breathless: "I'll be eighteen on the twenty-second."

I swallowed thickly at the sharp conviction in his voice, and the next breath I took shuddered violently. "Murphy," I whispered helplessly. What could I say? That I _wasn't_ excited at the prospect of him turning eighteen?

Thunder rolled softly in the distance and Murphy picked up his head, glancing back east as the wind suddenly picked up and brushed his dark hair over his eyes. "Rain's comin'," he muttered gently. His hand covered one of mine that still clutched his shoulder and he wrapped his fingers around mine, tugging me back to the road. "C'mon, b'fore ya get wet."

I groaned at the innocent innuendo of his statement. He couldn't have known that I already was.

* * *

Christ, he had been close. Very close. He'd felt the want outweigh the wary, and if she hadn't stopped him when she did, he would have kissed here, right there on the side of Prosperous Road. As it was, his chance had come and gone, and he hadn't pushed his luck, but it had been hard. She smelled so good. Felt even better as she touched him, turned her head from his face so that her hair brushed his chin. At least he had a better idea of what was making her so defensive. He didn't think a woman of her age would be scared of a silly thing like their age difference, but the small rational voice that remained in his brain cried out 'you idiot, it's illegal until you're eighteen'. When he told her of his impending birthday – that hadn't been a lie, he and Connor would celebrate, true Gemini twins – he'd seen a hairline fracture appear in her armour.

And she hadn't let go of his hand as they continued up Prosperous Road. The closer they got to town, the tighter her fingers clutched at his, and when the wind suddenly picked up, bringing the storm right overhead, the lightening flashed once, followed by a clap of thunder that made Márín jump, startled, and curl her hand around his bicep. He laughed at her reaction, looking down at her clinging to his side.

She seemed to realize her foolishness and, with a furious blush, she pulled her hand free and made a wide berth around him. He watched her walk ahead a few steps when suddenly, he felt the first fat drops of what he knew was going to be a punishing downpour. He watched as each drop made a large circle of darker yellow on Márín's sundress, soaking the cotton. They made little shiny patches on her bare skin.

"We better move," Murphy growled, jogging and catching her hand. He didn't slow his pace but pulled her into a trot with him.

The village came into view about five minutes later, but when Murphy turned to check on Márín, he discovered that those five minutes were all it took for her – and him – to become completely soaked. The sundress was plastered to her body and she fought with the top of it, pulling it away from where it clung to her breasts. Her hair hung in wet waves, wayward strands of it curling about her neck and cheekbones, and she wiped at them as she shielded her eyes and looked up at him.

"C'mon," she called over the pelting rain, pulling him to the village square in the direction of the church. "The Church is closer; you can wait it out there."

He wasn't one to argue and he let her drag him up the deserted main road, splashing through puddles, cutting over soggy lawns, and coming through the back yard of the building. "Good thing we haven't got around to tha fence yet," Murphy grumbled, shaking his soaking hair from his eyes. He trudged up to the back stairs of the house, following behind Márín as she dug into her purse. He studied her shoulders as she moved, no doubt searching for her keys. Murphy glanced up at the sky through narrowed eyes, knowing that this rain was here for at least the next three days. Standing pools of water had already formed in the yard and the beds that he and Márín had dug the day before.

He heard her curse sharply, and he looked back to see her shoulders tense. "Y'all right?" he asked, coming to stand over her shoulder.

"Jesus H Christ," she muttered, digging into her purse again with renewed fervour.

"Lord's name," Murphy scolded gently, smiling at her frantic movements. "What's wrong?"

Márín groaned and let her head fall back, tipping her face up to the pouring rain. "I locked me fuckin' keys in the goddamn house."

Murphy couldn't help the broad grin the spread on his face. "Lord's na…"

Márín whirled towards him, her green eyes flashing in the stormy light. "_Don't_ say it," she growled.

Murphy's mouth clamped shut with an even bigger grin. "What about Father McMahon?" he asked as he watched her climb the stairs and peer into the window on the door.

Márín shrugged. "He won't be home until after six," she announced. She took a quick glance at her watch. "It's almost five now." Another streak of lightening lit the sky, followed by a stabbing crack of thunder that split the air. She jumped, another little surprised yelp leaving her.

* * *

I wasn't afraid of storms, not really, she was just easily startled. Perhaps a little too much nervous energy, Joe had once joked after sneaking up on me one night while she had been reading in bed. Murphy's soft laughter caught my attention and I frowned at him.

"Afraid of a little storm?" he chided.

I cast another withering glance at the house and then weighed my options. We needed to find _some_ form of shelter and I scanned the yard, finally settling on the small greenhouse at the corner of the property where Colin grew tomatoes and sugar peas and begonias. It was always hot in there, and damp, but it would be out of the rain. "Let's go," I huffed, ignoring his snickering at my discomfort.

The daytime had heated the interior of the greenhouse to stifling temperatures and the rain outside had done little to dispel any moisture inside. We were no longer standing in a damn Irish rainstorm, however, and I ushered Murphy inside before pulling the door shut behind us. Fiddling with the light switch for a moment, I gave up after realizing that there was no power. Probably knocked out by this storm.

"Thanks," I replied, referring to his gesture of seeing me safely home. "You should probably head home – yer Ma will be worried."

Murphy snorted with a roll of his eyes and, shaking his head, boosted himself to perch on a bench that ran along one glass wall. "Ma's been at the Anvil since noon, I'll bet, an' if she ain't drinkin', she's workin', so it'll be just Connor at home." He twisted the cap off of the cream soda he'd carried the whole way home and took a swig before holding it out to me.

I waved it by, remembering what my reaction had been the last time I took something that had been in his mouth. "Well, then get home to Connor," I reasoned, feeling stifled in the greenhouse. It wasn't the humidity, however, but the fact that I had enclosed myself in the small space with a boy almost half my age.

He pouted, reminding me once more of his age, but also of every man I'd ever come across: prone to sulking if they didn't get their way. I was wading into dangerous territory, but I'd lost sight of the shore long ago. "Ya tryin' ta get rid o'me?" he half-joked.

"It's better than spending the rest of your Sunday trapped in a greenhouse with me."

His head tilted thoughtfully and he regarded me with curiosity as he reached into his pockets and lit another cigarette. "Ya think I'd rather be sittin' on tha couch watchin' TV with me brudder than holed up in a dark greenhouse with a pretty girl?" He took another sip of cream soda.

I shifted in my wet shoes and set my bag down, determined to find my own cigarettes. I didn't answer his question, as it was obviously rhetorical. As I fished my cigarettes out, Murphy slid from the bench and moved to stand next to me, bending at the knees so that he might catch my gaze with his. When his warm fingers brushed the inside of my elbow, I looked up, once again startled by his proximity.

"Fer a woman who was married, ya sure don't know what to do with a compliment." He frowned and sucked his cigarette. "That husband o'yers never tell ya yer pretty?"

I quickly looked away, too ashamed for him to see the tears pricking my eyes. "Of course," I answered shakily. I shook my head vigorously, finding my lighter, grateful that I had something else to focus on instead of him. Of course Joe had told me I was pretty. He didn't say it much, but when he did, I smiled for him. I didn't get the weird flutter in my belly like I did when Murphy said it – and he'd said twice in one afternoon.

He exhaled another lungful of smoke, and I was wrapped in the scent of warm air, dirt, and sweet cloves. I froze as the fingers that still touched the delicate skin on the inside of my arm slowly crept up, rubbing along the damp skin of my upper arm, sliding dangerously under the flimsy strap of my sundress until they dared to gently graze my collarbone. The whole time, my heart beat faster and faster, so loud that I thought Murphy would be able to hear it over the driving rain. My breath shook and I clamped my eyes shut as a whimper threatened to escape my throat. His touch had sent a flash of desire across my skin and my nipples tightened against the soaked cotton of my dress. The tiniest inhale made them scrape along the cold, coarse material and I bit my lip, pressing my thighs together. Murphy shifted stiffly, and I took a chance and looked up into his face.

The tips of his ears were flushed, and so where his cheekbones, his eyes trained to the front of my dress where I knew he would see the hard pebbles my nipples had become. The blue of his irises had been swallowed by black; the cigarette in his hand was forgotten, his mouth now a show of scandalous movement. The tip of his tongue flicked his top lip as his eyes continued to roam up and down my body. I moved to pull my arms in, to cross them, to somehow put up a barrier between us, but he caught my wrist, his upper teeth pressing into that full bottom lip of his.

He took one last look at my mouth and then there was a scant inch between us. I managed to wrestle a hand up, landing on his soaked shirt, not pushing him away, but not pulling him closer, either. My brain was on the fritz; I couldn't decide what I wanted or needed to do. My fingers toyed with the buttons, and I dared to slip the pad of my index finger along the skin the open shirt collar exposed. He swallowed, his skin moving against my fingertip. The smallest movement of his head brought his mouth down so close to mine I could feel his next words vibrating against my lips:

"Yer beautiful."

His confession made me gasp, and my mouth fell open a fraction, the movement causing his lips to glance against mine. In a bold move, he took over in a kiss that was as sweet as it was sordid, cream soda of youth and coffee of adulthood; bittersweet chocolate. He had the softest mouth I'd ever kissed. His lips pressed firm and warm against mine, barely open, flush, wet, and my body tingled where he touched me: my mouth, my wrist, the press of his knee against the inside of my thigh. I felt his pulse drum beneath my fingertips.

His tongue flashed against mine in a timid move and when I didn't protest, merely relaxed more, he took the invite and acted on it, angling his head down, increasing pressure and surface area. Hands that had been idle seemed to be everywhere. My fingers curled from his collarbone to the back of his head, threading through the thick, dark waves. Murphy touched me everywhere he could, starting at my waist, pulling me against him, moving to my hips to press me back against the bench behind me, lower then, one to the hem of my dress, dragging the damp cotton up rain-numbed skin, while his other hand landed on my breast, cupping so gently as if anything more would break me, break this. His thumb curled painfully slow against my nipple, dragging the wet cotton of my dress around and causing stars to explode behind my eyelids. A tiny moan flitted up between us, giving him the chance to persue a deeper kiss. I didn't stop him. I didn't want to. The heavy groan that wandered from his chest through our mouths made my legs shake and I let him move me back, pull one knee up to his hip and arch my body to crush against his chest.

Too soon I had to pull back for air, and as we both gasped and grasped the situation at hand, we stared at each other, wide eyed, mouths gaping, panting, heartbeats hammering in time. A small whimper floated up from my throat and the fingers snared in his hair tightened, pulling him to me once more, arcing my hips to fit against his.

Lights flashed then, and Murphy angled his head down once more. As his mouth glanced off of mine, the sound of a car horn broke through the haze and we started, bouncing apart. Craning our necks, we both saw the headlights crawling up the drive, turning in towards the house.

"Looks like Father McMahon is back," Murphy growled, his fingers squeezing my hips once more before he took a wary step back. He reached and swung open the door.

The realization of what was actually transpiring hit me like a bucket of cold water. I sagged back against the bench, breath still shuddering, wantonly missing his hands already. Reaching to my mouth, I touched my lips, trying desperately to memorize the uneducated, exuberant press of his mouth against mine. "I'll get him to drive you," I blurted out, forgetting myself and following him back out into the rain.

Murphy glanced up at the sky, smiling as his hair became soaked once more. He turned to me, grinning with cheek, and shook his head. "S'all right," he shrugged. "I can handle the storm. I'm a big boy." He was already lighting another cigarette, taking a long drag. Blowing out a stream of smoke, he fixed me with his tilted gaze. "I'm goin' ta kiss ya again, Márín," he announced. He swiped his bottom lip with his thumb and stuck the digit in his mouth, giving me half a smile. "Swear ta Christ I will."

"Lord's name," I heard my voice say softly.

He winked and then he was off, cutting around the back of the greenhouse away from the driveway, and back through the yard, off towards his end of the village.


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: Such a pleasure to write this for you all. Thank you, to old and new readers alike. I am hoping to update this regularly, but I've been spending a lot of time with my older brother as of late as he's got a lot of things he's going through - he's my second best friend after my husband. Many thanks to Walt Whitman, whose beautiful words inspired this chapter. If you have never had the pleasure of reading him, do so, but in the bath with a glass of wine / whiskey / scotch. It is pleasantly warming._

_*after a bit of digging, I did confirm that the original Catholic rosary did in fact have 108 beads (instead of the standard of 59 these days) - 10 decades of 10 Hail Marys (equaling 100 beads) and 8 'Our Fathers'._

* * *

Someone once pointed out to Murphy that there were 108 stitches on a baseball and 108 beads in a Catholic rosary. He didn't remember _who _had told him, but he had relayed it to Ma, and she had merely narrowed her eyes and muttered something about not using practice as an excuse to missChurch. Still, the trivial fact fascinated him and he often found himself picking up the first baseball he'd bought when he was eight, a worn out thing all but falling apart, and praying over that just as much as he did the satin wood beads of his rosary.

Out on the mound the next Wednesday afternoon, he ran his thumb over the stitches, rubbing the bumps as he eyeballed the batter. Practice had been cancelled Monday and Tuesday on account of rain, a regular occurrence in Wicklow; this close to their game on Saturday meant that Coach Murdoch had the team out in the still-drying mud, doing their best to get as dirty as possible. It was a game, after all, and it was, in Mr. Murdoch's words 'supposed to be fun, Goddamnit.'

He'd been throwing like shit since half-past three, and he wondered if Márín had anything to do with it. As his thumb traced the stitches on the ball he held loosely in his right hand, his brain piped up. _Of course it's because o'Márín,_ inner Murphy growled. _That ball remind you of her tit in yer hand? Thumb tracin' all over those stitches like that sweet little nipple o'hers?_

"Shut up," he growled to himself, digging his foot into the bag on the ground, stomping away the blood that began to heat and rise in his groin. He'd be damned if he got an erection on the pitching mound.

"C'mon, Murph, let's get something over the plate, aye?" Coach Murdoch called out.

Murphy nodded, his eyes never leaving Jimmy Jamieson who was crowding the box. Murphy turned the ball over in his hand and wound up with one smooth motion before letting the ball fly. It curved high and outside and Dougie Burke, who sat behind home plate, stretched up and out to catch it. He called time out and jogged out to the pitcher's mound, pulling off the protective mask he wore.

"What tha hell, Murph? Yav been throwin bricks out here fer almost an hour."

Murphy snatched the ball back and socked it into the pit of his glove a few times. "Don't I fuckin' know it." He tugged the worn Red Sox hat from his head and wiped at his sweat before spitting on the mound near his foot. "Can't keep my head in one place," he muttered.

Dougie stared at him for a moment. He'd been catching for Murphy since they were twelve, all the way up through grade school. He knew his pitcher was temperamental, but he also knew that Murphy could do anything with just an ounce of concentration. He pulled the ball from Murphy's glove and contemplated it, turning it over in his hands. "So think about one thing – just one thing, pick it out and focus on it. Can be anything, Murph…just make sure it's _one_ thing. Personally, I think you should concentrate on yer curve ball, it's wicked sharp, but that's me, an' I'm not the one pitchin'."

Murphy made a face at Dougie and gave him a good shove for the hell of it. "Feck off," he growled with a grin.

Dougie shrugged and tossed the ball back to Murphy. "One thing. Just one thing, and pitch through it, Murph. Don't make me look like an ass, right?" Dougie grinned and jogged back to home plate.

"Aye, don't make _myself_ look like an arse," Murphy replied stiffly. He palmed the ball again and waited for Dougie to take up position behind the plate. Once there, Dougie signed for the heater, and Murphy rubbed the stitches on the ball once more.

_She kissed you back_.

He exhaled and let the ball fly. It fired from his fingertips, searing and punishing the air, sailed right across home plate, and the batter swung a split second too late. Murphy heard the impact of the ball on Dougie's glove from where he stood and he grinned widely.

"Just like that, MacManus!" Coach Murdoch called out. "Let's see it again; Jamieson, get your head in the game!" the coach added to the batter.

The last part of practice was moderately better. He didn't nail all of his pitches, as the thought of Márín kissing him back melted into thoughts that went beyond, but for the most part, he did okay. They finished off practice with laps around the field; on the final loop, they really let loose and, as all men are prone to do at any time, turned into little boys, skidding and sliding through the mud that still corralled the field. By the time he left the diamond, Murphy was streaked with the stuff, flicking it off as he jogged off the field with his teammates.

"Game is Saturday at two o'clock, boyos!" Coach Murdoch called out as they gathered their belongings from beside the dugout. "I want you at Dyers' Field no later than one o'clock, aye?"

There was a chorus of 'ayes' in answer, and the team dispersed, heading for home or afterschool jobs. Murphy rounded the side of the school and unlocked his bike, stuffing his glove into his pack before looping the straps over his shoulder. Coach Murdoch's reminder had in turn kickstarted Murphy's memory – he still hadn't gotten clearance from Father McMahon, not that he thought there would be a problem. Still, it was only polite to double check, and so he turned his bike towards St. Patrick's, in hopes that he'd get a chance to see Márín, too.

* * *

I'd spent the day working alongside Colin in the greenhouse. The humidity was unbelievable – after two days of rain, the air in the glass enclosed space was thick, plastering my hair to my forehead and making my shirt stick to me. It felt cleansing, sweating thoughts of Murphy out, but it seemed that no matter what I was doing, I could always relate something back to him: the dark color of soil, like his hair, the delicate blush on the petal of a begonia, like his cheekbones, the smell of sweet sugar peas like his breath, warm and lingering like the air around me. At last, it was getting close to dinner, and if Colin was half as hungry as I was, we would need to stop for dinner very soon. I nudged my brother in law with my elbow and nodded back to the house.

"I'm goin' ta shower up an' then get on dinner. Nothin' fancy, aye? Sandwiches, I think, a couple of them. Did ya pick up beer?"

Colin chuckled as he fiddle with his tomato plants. "What do ya take me fer?" he quipped with a wink. "Been chillin' since last night. Go on, I'll finish up here. Won't be another half hour. Thanks again fer yer help – but you know I could have got Murphy ta do it."

I waved the mention of _his_ name aside as if it was no big deal. "It's all right," I shrugged. "Besides, I'm takin' yer advice and headin' inta Dublin tomorrow. Hit a few bookstores, maybe see if Jenny can get a drink."

Colin beamed. "I'm glad. Sounds like fun."

I peeled off my work gloves and ditched them on the bench, running my fingertips over the worn wood for a moment. Had Murphy really kissed me in here only three days ago? It seemed like a lifetime and yet every time I closed my eyes I saw him looming over me, dark and decadent, and definitely dangerous. _You like it_, my inner voice snarked. _After Joe Safety, ya need a little danger in yer life_.

"Márín?" Colin said suddenly.

I blinked slowly. "Huh?"

He gave me a funny smile. "You kinda went away on me, lass."

I gave a half-hearted chuckle. "Just thinkin', is all. I'm gonna go get that shower."

I cranked the water on high, but instead of finding my usual trance beneath the water, I was reminded of the rain on Sunday, and how it pelted the skin and made everything wet and transparent. I tried telling myself that the gnawing in my veins was guilt over letting that boy kiss me. I hadn't stopped him. I kissed him back; I pulled him close for another go. It was Colin's arrival that slapped me to my senses and when I closed my eyes, I thought about what might have happened if my brother in law _hadn't_ arrived just then.

Would I have let him lift me onto that bench? His hands had seemed to want it, gripping my waist and then my hips, his fingers inching my dress up as he moved me…as I let him move me. He seemed so sure, though I no doubt played a part in that. I had slid my tongue with his, tugged his hair, moaned and whimpered appropriately…and truthfully. He had dived deep and dredged up things I hadn't felt in a very long time, things I told myself I didn't need, because on those lonely nights when Joe stayed up late and I went to bed, I had to have something to hold on to.

Under the hot spray of the shower, my hands slid down from where they gripped my neck and they paused at my breasts, cupping them gently like Murphy had, tracing one nipple, and then the other. He'd been so eager to touch me that I know he surprised both of us with his brash movements. I'd arched right into his touch, arched like I did now; sliding soapy fingers along my skin, down my torso, along my belly and hips. He had strong hands; I'd watched him work in the garden. I knew from the way he pulled me to him that he took what he wanted. But he'd held something back, too, I just knew it from the way his fingers grasped and released so reluctantly. Just the thought of his lips brushing against mine again had me reeling. My hands slid lower, circling more soap and more thoughts.

I allowed myself this. The rush of the water shut out everything save for what was in my mind, and at that moment, it was Murphy, standing beneath the water, before me, looking at me with a soft smile of awe, laced with mischief. He could kiss. By Christ, he could kiss, and I let his lips wander in my mind, slide along my jaw, my neck, my collarbones… and oh, touching, just brushing my nipples, his tongue flashing out, wicked and wonderful, fast…warm…he would savour it, I know he would. I touched myself as I thought he might, mindful and yet with purpose. He was too focused on his task for sundry things. My hand searched lower, leaving one at my breast while the other slid between my thighs and my fingertips grazed over my clit.

* * *

Murphy skidded to a halt on the Church driveway, his eyes immediately falling to the small greenhouse peeking out of the backyard. Closing his eyes, he replayed those last few minutes he'd shared with Márín, the feel of her soaked cotton dress pulled tight over her nipples as he'd touched her, the softness of her mouth and the way she'd pulled away, breathless. The way she'd touched her mouth. Her taste – lingering sweetness from the chocolate and the coffee beans, and something that was just her. He'd kissed girls before, and they all tasted the same: bubble gum, lip gloss, roses. Márín was whiskey, was smoke, was rain and grass.

Lord's name, no wonder he hadn't been able to throw a straight pitch all afternoon. His mind was everywhere, unusual for him. Connor was the one who was a little scattered, taking on everything at once, while Murphy had always been able to focus, to push away anything that wasn't of use. Not that his thoughts of Márín _weren't_ of use, but on the pitcher's mound, they weren't very helpful.

He drew in a deep breath. He _needed_ to get his head straight before Saturday's game. His team, the Warriors, had been on a streak since April and he wasn't going to disappoint because he couldn't handle one little kiss. His inner voice growled at him with that last thought. _It's not just 'one little kiss', ya fuckin' retard. It's everything about her_. He groaned at the thought. He knew she was hesitant, even skittish, about any possible relationship, friendship or otherwise, but hesitation meant that she still thought about it becoming a reality. He held that close and pushed his bike onwards again, taking up the pedals once more.

"Hello?" he called out, noting that the door to the greenhouse was open. Father McMahon's car was in the drive, but there wasn't a sign of either him or Márín. "Father McMahon?"

"In here!" Father McMahon's disembodied voice replied. It was coming from the greenhouse and Murphy dismounted his bike and leaned it against the stairs to the house and crossed to the greenhouse.

He stuck his head inside, seeing Father McMahon right away, bent over a row of juvenile tomato plants. "Hi, Father," Murphy greeted.

Father McMahon looked over his shoulder and smiled brightly. "Hello, Mr. MacManus!" he warmly greeted. "What brings you around?"

Murphy watched as Father McMahon stood and leaned back against a bench – the bench he'd held Márín against – and he blinked slowly, trying desperately to push the memory from his mind. He felt absolutely transparent standing before his priest and he dared to raise his head. The placid look on Father McMahon's face didn't allude to anything, and Murphy gave him a small smile. "I needed to talk to ya about this Saturday. I have a game in the afternoon?" He trailed off.

Father McMahon nodded suddenly, his smile widening. "Of course!" he beamed. "I remember you mentioning that." He stood and pulled his gloves off, setting them to one side. "Well, let's head up to the house." He nodded towards the door. "I'll ask Márín how ya fared over the weekend an' if she thinks ya deserve ta play ball."

Murphy shifted in his cleats and nodded quickly. "Oh…ah, all right." He smiled crookedly and stepped back to let Father McMahon pass. Then he followed the older man out into the yard and up the steps to the house.

"Please, come inside, Murphy," Father McMahon invited as he toed off his shoes and moved into the kitchen. He cocked his head down the hall for a moment. "Sounds like Márín is still in the shower. Can you wait a few minutes?"

Murphy nodded silently, his brain already conjuring images of Márín in the shower.

Father McMahon busied himself at the sink, washing his hands, and he threw a glance over his shoulder at Murphy. "Did ya want ta maybe wash yer face, boyo? Looks like you went a few rounds with a mud puddle."

Murphy frowned and looked down at his worn practice ringer shirt, complete with a mighty streak of mud and grass. His pants hadn't fared much better and he hastily toed his cleats off, kicking them out the door when he was done. As a last minute thought, he pulled his cap from his head and set it on the counter, pushing his sweaty hair back from his brow. "Ah, thanks," he replied, moving to the sink and rolling his sleeves up. He pulled the bar of soap into his hands and began to scrub. When he was done, he dried them and his face on the towel Father McMahon held out and then took the glass of iced tea that was offered. He drank half of it down before he moved to follow Father McMahon into the front sitting room.

"Have a seat, Murphy. I'll just let Márín know you're here."

* * *

A tiny moan fell from my throat, mixing in with the steam of the shower. My eyes squeezed shut as my fingers – _his fingers_ – became bolder, gliding down, slipping inside, making me tilt my hips. Tentative strokes, searching, his eyes watching me, taking it all in, waiting for that moment when he found that place that made me cry out breathlessly, his name a ragged sigh. Every nerve was on fire and Murphy had lit the match three days prior. I pushed deeper, urging him on in my mind, nodding as his eyes widened and my thighs widened, and everything became deep and roaring and hot and wet.

The tiles were cold against my shoulder as I rocked back. I clung to the rod of the shower curtain with my free hand, pressed up onto my toes, reaching again, this time finding that spot and never letting up. He wouldn't let up, once he found what he wanted, and he would rub, as I did, and press, circle and rub and pull, feel the smooth clutch of wet velvet, harder now, my breath coming in tiny gasps. "Murphy," I whispered to the steam. With a hiss and a stab of pleasure, I split apart under the shower, shaking with thoughts of him, his hot blue eyes watching it all, taking everything in. My heart stammered, and threatened to explode, my blood coursed through my body, simmering. My knuckles were white where they gripped the shower curtain rod. They were slick between my thighs.

Heaving a groan, I slipped free of the silk vice between my legs, and my head lolled back against the tile with a dull thud. I was doomed. Utterly, horrifically, terribly, wonderfully doomed. I don't know how long I stood there, my mind and heart racing, but I pushed myself to stand straight and go through the motions of washing. Cranking the water off, I slung the curtain back, and grabbed for the towel sitting on the counter.

A small, tentative rap sounded on the other side of the door and I sucked in a startled breath, staring at the door for a moment, feeling my cheeks flame. Had he heard? I'd barely uttered the boy's name, at least that was what I thought. Had it been loud, thunderous, like I so very badly wanted to shout it?

"Márín?" Colin's voice called. "Lass, we've company."

I let out the breath I was holding with a shudder. "Ah…thanks, Col. Be out in a few." It took a few moments to get my heart back on track, to stop the trembling in my thighs. I wondered briefly if Colin somehow knew my train of thoughts. Twice now he'd interrupted my dalliances where Murphy was concerned. Was it a sign? Did I believe in that sort of thing?

I quickly dried off and wrapped the towel around my hair before dressing in a pair of worn cut off shorts and an off-the shoulder t-shirt. I was sure to put on a bra; if there was one thing that made Colin uncomfortable, it was the fact that I often went without when I was puttering around the house. Exiting the warmth of the bathroom, the hallway was refreshingly cool and I headed to my room first to deposit my grubby clothes and run a comb through my hair.

* * *

Murphy chose to stand, instead of taking the seat Father McMahon offered, as his attention had been immediately caught by the bookshelf against one wall. It was packed with books, all sorts of titles, from reference to novels, and he skimmed the titles, tilting his head and reading them, his lips moving over the names of authors and the words on the spines. Books were a timeless obsession of his, something he'd found he could pick up and escape from Connor's chatter when it grew too loud, from the word when it grew too close. English Lit was his favourite class; he was even known to read between innings during a game, though Coach Murdoch had warned him that if he caught him doing it again, he'd been running bases every day after school until sundown. _A time and a place for everything_, Coach Murdoch had said. _And here on the diamond, you're on my time and in my place._

"They're Márín's, mostly," Father McMahon said as he settled into a worn leather armchair. He gestured to the bookcase. "She was an English major in college."

Murphy looked up in surprise. "Really?" He turned back to the bookshelf, even more fascinated. Had she read all of these? He reached a cautious hand out and touched the spine of one of them, a small tome bound in worn green kidskin, the gold lettering of the title almost worn off. "Much Ado About Nothing," he said softly, smiling at the story itself. It was one of his favorites. He moved along the shelf with renewed interest and when his eyes landed on the name 'Walt Whitman', he paused, and then pulled it off the shelf.

"She worked in a bookstore for sometime while she was in Dublin," Father McMahon continued. "Got her hands on several remarkable editions. Go ahead, you can take a look," he encouraged with a chuckle when Murphy's fingers seemed to merely skim the cover of the book in his hands.

He wanted to look. He wanted nothing more than to pull the cover back and read everything there, everything that Márín had read. He was dying to know if she had written notes in the margin. But he wanted to do it alone. Where he had time to just sit and read and absorb the words that had no doubt absorbed her. He tapped the book lightly and looked to Father McMahon. "D'ya think I could borrow it?"

Father McMahon shrugged. "Don't see why not," he smiled. "Just make sure it comes back in the same condition. Márín doesn't get upset about much, but she will kill ya if ya disrespect her books."

"I'll take care o'her," Murphy said softly.

"Hmm?"

Murphy froze, wondering if he'd actually said that out loud. "I said I'll take care o'it," he replied as his ears burned. He moved into the kitchen to tuck the book into his knapsack.

* * *

_Nice ass_.

I walked into the kitchen to make my way to the front sitting room when I was stopped in my tracks by the sight before me. I knew it was Murphy right away, and that was the first thing that popped into my mind. _Nice ass_. He was rummaging around in his backpack by the back door. I stared, getting my fill.

"Márín, are you there?" Colin called from the other room.

I swore softly, and at the same time, Murphy stood and turned around, looking like he'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. It was a good look for him. I could feel myself smirking, even while my brain screamed to not encourage him. "Hi," I said softly.

He swallowed and nodded. "Hello," he managed to croak. "I…uhm…"

"Ah, Márín, good. Murphy here has come ta plead for time off from his yard duties." Colin moved beside me but my eyes never strayed from Murphy. He seemed to shift under our gazes, but he held his ground and flicked his eyes once to Colin before returning to me. "I told him we'd have to check with ya. So, how did he do this weekend?"

"He…uh…" I paused, clearing my throat. "He was great. Really." I bit my lip and dared to go one step further. "He's a pleasure ta work with."

I watched as Murphy shifted again, and I noticed his mud-streaked clothes, the red and white ringer shirt clinging to his shoulders, the snug gray pants that all ball players wore stretching tight over his hips and thighs. He was sweaty, dirty, and I didn't think he could look better. His dark hair stuck up in the back, having been tucked under the cap that currently sat on the counter between us.

"Enough that he can play ball this Saturday?"

Murphy's blue eyes watched me carefully, and I saw that his gaze lingered on the bare shoulder where my t-shirt hung low. That tongue of his flashed out again, touching the corner of his mouth, and I knew right then that I had to see him again…to work next to him, be close to him, no matter how dangerous things could get. "I'll make ya a deal," I started, smiling as Murphy's eyebrows went up with interest. "Ya can play ball if ya show up fer the morning. Seven am. Don't be late."

Murphy narrowed his eyes with a grin. "I'll be here at six if ya come to my game."

That threw me for a loop and I shifted beside Colin. Jesus, we were practically flirting right there in front of him. But Colin merely chuckled and shook his head. "She'll be there," he answered for me.

Murphy smiled at Colin, and then looked at me once more. "Then I'll be here Saturday mornin'." He glanced at the clock on the stove. "I gotta get home. Ma's workin' tonight and I've got some reading ta do." He flashed me a look that I couldn't describe but sent a tremor through me all the same. "Thanks fer the iced tea, Father McMahon," he went on as he picked up his back pack and slung it on. "Have a good night." He slipped out the door and down the steps.

When the door rattled shut, I turned my eyes on Colin. "What tha hell…"

He frowned at my choice of words.

I sighed. "Sorry. But Colin, what if I have plans on Saturday?"

He narrowed his eyes playfully. "Do ya?"

I sputtered. "Not…well, no…but that's not tha point!"

He laughed. "It will be good for ya ta get out among the community. Hardly anyone knows ya here. Of course, that could be rectified if ya came ta church…" he trailed off.

"Fine," I growled, even when I felt myself smile. "I'll come ta tha game." My eyes slid to the counter where Murphy's ball cap sat. "Shit, he forgot his hat," I said, pulling it close. It was still damp from his sweat and I rubbed worn brim. It was a well-loved hat.

"So he'll pick it up Saturday," Colin replied. "So, about those sandwiches?" he remarked, jumping his eyebrows up and down.

I shook my head and set Murphy's hat on a hook on the back of the door. Moving to the fridge, I pulled the door open and stuck my head inside, searching the contents. "Roast beef or ham?"

* * *

Murphy was secretly thrilled when Connor announced he was going out with Trick Matthews and Billy O'Hanalan after dinner. The fairer twin tried to cajole his darker half into coming along, but Murphy begged off, saying he was tired from practice. Connor's look lingered on his brother for a moment, feeling that Murphy had been avoiding him as of late. Still, he shrugged and took off, knowing deep down that if it was something serious, Murphy would tell him. Ma left for work just after that and Murphy all but dove for his back pack, tearing open the zipper and carefully pulling out 'The Portable Walt Whitman'. He stared at the worn paperback cover for a moment, his thumb lifting it at the edge. No, he decided, pulling his bag from the kitchen table and heading up the back stairs to his and Connor's bedroom. If he was going to read this, he wasn't going to tear into it standing in the kitchen covered in mud. He was home alone. He was going to indulge himself.

He stopped at his room and picked up a flashlight, and then moved down the hall. At the end of the long hallway Murphy slid the window pane up and crawled out onto the split roof. The night air had gone chilly, moisture still present from the previous days, but the sky was clear. The last bit of the sunset streaked purple and pink across the sky, and he breathed cool, crisp air in as he settled onto the roof and pulled out his cigarettes. Lighting one, he leaned back onto his elbows, watching the light disappear. When it was dark, and his cigarette was half done, he clicked on his flashlight and pulled out Márín's book, opening the cover. There, in the top left corner of the cover, was her name: Márín Guinness. He smirked at that. Figures she'd be named 'Guinness'. He shifted in place and the book fell open on a worn spot on the spine. His eyes zeroed in on the words, and traced over the pencil marks, the underlining, the softly scrawling questions. Out loud he read:

_I swear I think there is nothing but immortality! That the exquisite scheme _

_is for it, and the nebulous float is for it, and the cohering is for it,_

_And all preparation is for it…and identity is for it…_

_…and life and death are for it._

He paused then, taking a long pull from his cigarette before his jaw snapped out a series of perfect smoke rings. He dog eared the page and flipped ahead. The title of the next work jolted him, and he sat up a little straighter, as if it called his name, and he leaned closely to the page. "I Sing the Body Electric," he murmured. He repeated it, tasting the consonants, rolling the vowels. He licked his lips and read on:

_The expression of a wellmade man appears not only in_

_his face,_

_It is in his limbs and joints also…it is curiously_

_in the joints of his hips and wrists,_

_It is in his walk..the carriage of his neck..the flex of_

_his waist and knees….dress does not hide him,_

_The strong sweet supple quality he has strikes through the_

_cotton and flannel;_

_To see him pass conveys as much as the best poem.._

_perhaps more,_

_You linger to see his back and the back of his neck_

_and shoulderside._

This passage was bordered by a large bracket, traced endlessly, a tiny chain of hearts doodled in pencil nearby running up the outer edge of the page, and the word 'shoulderside' was underlined and then written beautifully beneath. He thought back to that evening at Father McMahon's. How long had Márín been behind him, looking at him, while he stashed this book into his pack? Had she lingered to see his back and the back of his neck and shoulderside? The thought made his belly clench and looked up into the dark sky, taking a last drag from his cigarette. He pitched the butt aside and looked back to the book. She was eclectic, he decided, and a romantic. He read further still, and fumbled for another cigarette as he stumbled upon the fifth part:

_This is the female form,_

_A divine nimbus exhales from it from head to foot,_

_It attracts with fierce undeniable attraction,_

_I am drawn by its breath as if I were no more than a helpless_

_vapor….all falls aside but myself and it…_

This was what had been haunting him since Sunday, this vision of her, a woman, drawing him in with every breath she took. And he _was_ helpless, and found that he didn't mind. Control was something he didn't give up easily, but for her…for _this_, her body, her breath, he'd dare to let it slide, to wander and let himself just be taken over. The words on the page were heady, thick in his head, making his heart thump faster, harder behind his ribs. His blood heated, his eyes devouring more of the page, more of Márín, and he all but groaned as he read further, luscious words, delectable phrases, chains of thought strung together in a warm web that tightened his chest and his groin. He closed his eyes, exhaled smoke, and with a quick, shaking hand, made short work of the belt on his pants.

The cold air felt exquisite on the overheated skin low on his belly, and he shoved his pants and briefs down far enough that he could grip his half-hard length. With a few quick, solid strokes, he was achingly hard and a huff left him as he fell back against the shingles, the scent of cloves surrounding him. The book landed open on his chest, the smell of warm paper and binder's glue wafting up, and he blinked shining blue eyes up at the stars as his fingers tightened their hold.

He hissed. Christ, he wanted Márín to touch him like this. His thumb skated over the swollen head of his cock, picking up the moisture that leaked out, and he heard himself groan her name softly as he tugged on the foreskin and pushed more of his cock into the cold spring night. With arcing hips, he came swiftly, a rush so surprising that he thought he was going to burst with the sudden onslaught of pleasure that knifed through him. He panted, feeling the hot splash of his come as it coated his fingers and bare thighs. Then, he stilled, and for a moment just breathed and listened to the air through the nearby trees.

He stirred minutes later, his hand shaking as he tucked himself back into his pants. Carefully, he set the book aside and wiped the evidence of his self indulgence on the hem of his shirt. It was going straight in the wash at any rate, and he was headed for the shower, but first, a cigarette. He found, however, that he could not let the book alone for too long, and as he puffed away on a third and forth cigarette and was haloed by the fragrant cloud of smoke, he read, and reread, and committed everything to memory.


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: For Little Miss Tightly Wound, my unoffical pimp, and to Valerie E Mackin, whose words of praise and PMs make me smile each time I open my emails. A million thanks to ALL who have read and reviewed, favorited, subscribed, loved, or hated and passed me by._

_I do a lot of researching online when my stories take place in different decades; I didn't realize the mine-feild I was stepping into when I set this in the mid 80's. How the hell do you make THAT fashion era sexy? Guess it's 'Flashdance' sweatshirts and tight jeans. Just trying to figure out what she'll wear to the Spring Formal. Oh yeah, she's going. But maybe not in the way you think. Did I mention the potluck at Father McMahon's that's coming up? Just trying to keep you interested...that's all I'll say for now! Oh, and she has yet to meet Connor, too...and let's not forget the Wrath of Ma._

* * *

"Well, ya look better than ya did just after Christmas," Jenny O'Reilly smiled as she slid into the booth of the small café in Dublin. It was Thursday and I'd called early in the morning to make sure she could meet with me. Of course, shd'e agreed immediately. She picked up the beer I'd ordered for her ahead of time and raised it in a small, informal toast. She took a healthy sip and then set the glass down, her dark brown eyes searching my face. Suddenly, she brightened, and sat back as she raised an eyebrow. "Ya met someone."

I choked on a sip of my second Guinness and wiped hurriedly at the small puddle I created on the table. "What? No, I didn't," I hastily replied, fiddling with the small cardboard coaster.

Jenny crossed her arms over her chest defiantly and flicked her black hair from her eyes. "Don't fuckin' lie ta me, Már, it's all over yer face." She leaned closer and lowered her voice. "Ya met someone an' yer fuckin' smitten." There was triumph in her voice.

I sighed, knowing that when it came to Jenny reading my moods, I couldn't hide anything. We'd been friends since we were ten, close as sisters, maybe more, and there was no use – and no reason – to keep secrets from her. She'd been there for me through everything, and I had been there for her, too. Jenny was the only one who knew the true nature of my marriage to Joe, and even though she was my rock during that awful storm, I couldn't help but think she was relieved, maybe a little happy, that I had been released from a bone-aching loneliness.

I shrugged then, and decided to play it off like it was no big deal. I didn't need to give her details, and she wouldn't expect them. "Maybe," I relented.

Jenny smirked. "Is he cute?"

I groaned, leaning my head back against the booth where we sat. "Christ, Jen, he's fuckin' gorgeous." No sense in lying about that.

Jenny's smile was blistering, it was so sunny, and she all but jumped up and down in her seat. "About fuckin' time." She clamped her mouth shut, gauging my reaction, and reached for my hand right away. "I didn't mean…Márín, I know yer still reeling from Joe…"

I sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly with a little nod. "It's okay," I replied. "Really. It…" I frowned, the words bubbling to the surface. "It doesn't hurt as much," I concluded slowly. It was like a fog suddenly lifting. I glanced up from my glass to Jenny.

She smiled again. "Oh, Már, I'm so happy fer ya. Liam will be ecstatic. An' maybe he'll stop tryin' ta find ya a date from the guys at the office." She winked and took another gulp of beer.

I laughed. Her husband, Liam, had been trying to set me up since February, screening potentials and having Jenny relay information to me. None of his choices had ever actually been acted upon. I had a plethora of excuses on hand, most of them being some form of 'I'm not ready yet'. Now, it seemed, in a span of four days, I was ready. But there was only one person on my mind.

"What's his name?" Jenny buzzed.

"Ah…Murphy," I said softly, rolling his name from my tongue.

"Jesus, you even _sound_ fuckin' smitten," Jenny groaned. "An' what does this 'Murphy' do?"

I shook my head. "That's all yer gettin' fer now," I replied.

Jenny gave me a curious smile and then shrugged. "Fine. Fine, but I want ta meet him if things get serious, aye? Ooh, ya should bring him to tha city one night! We'll hit up Lanigan's or The Fox an' Fiddle, make a whole weekend of it!"

I bit my lip and gave a non-committal shrug. It could happen. Once he turned eighteen at the end of the month, it could happen, if it was suddenly socially acceptable for a thirty-two year old woman to date an eighteen year old boy…man…manboy…whatever the term for him was.

Jenny was already moving on subject wise. "So, what else do ya do in Wicklow? Colin manage ta get ya ta church yet?"

I gave her a withering look and she laughed in reply before flagging down a waitress and ordering chips and gravy, and another round of beers. I relaxed after that, feeling more like myself than I had in a while. Murphy set me on edge, made me step outside of myself and my comfort zone…but when I thought about it, I didn't actually know what that was anymore. I had one version of myself, she who was married to Joe and cooked big dinners on Sunday nights and worked at a bookstore and liked to indulge in Guinness. Had sex missionary more often than not – and that was another thing. I hadn't thought about sex this often in a very long time. I wasn't a prude by any means, but all of a sudden it seemed that anything that came to mind could somehow, no matter how indirectly, be related to sex, or sexualized. My skin felt too tight lately, my teeth grinding, my fingers clenching.

After beers we wandered down the shops, hopping into the second hand stores to try on the major finds we managed to dig up. The skirts I tried on were shorter than normal, tighter, and when Jenny wanted to stop in a little boutique and pick up something 'special' for her weekend with Liam, I found myself pawing through high-cut panties and thongs, and indulging in a few of each, in lace and satin, and all colors. As Jenny wandered around the shop, my mind wandered around Murphy. Each time I touched something, I thought about Murphy, about what his reaction might be to seeing it on my body, and then seeing it pulled off and tossed away uselessly. My brain wouldn't shut off; every thought became more vividly detailed, right down to Murphy actually coming on the dark blue satin panties I was clutching in my hand.

I let out a hard breath as my breasts became heavy and began to ache. I swear my cheeks were burning bright red as I gathered my purchases from the girl behind the counter, but if they were, Jenny said nothing, and merely linked arms with me and demanded that I come to dinner at her house that night as Liam had missed me so much. I went willingly, stuffing the tiny red bag into my purse, knowing that if I went back to Colin's I'd only have my thoughts to occupy my time.

Liam had started dinner, so when Jenny and I breezed in after stopping for another pint we were giddy _and_ hungry, and the warm aroma of boxty with leeks and seared lamb made my stomach rumble. It felt good to eat and laugh, to share my type of communion with my closest family. It felt good to have other things occupy my mind. And at the end of the night when I said my goodbyes and Jenny walked me to my car, she once again brought up the idea of a double date hopping through pubs.

"I'll think about it," I answered. I was dying to confess to Jenny, but I had an ounce of doubt. Would she judge me? Christ, I know I did every time I thought of him. We embraced once more, her urging me to call her more often and to visit again, soon. As I pulled out of the drive, my mind drifted as I went along the familiar streets. All too soon, I found myself creeping along Davis Way and stopping in front of a two-storey town home.

_My_ home. I killed the ignition and sat, staring at the darkened doorstep. I hadn't been here since February, and that had been a quick in and out, searching for a coat that I needed down in Wicklow. I hadn't stopped to look at the pictures still hanging on the walls, hadn't wandered into the bedroom I hadn't slept in for almost six months, didn't bother with anything but my clothes and my books. And now I'd driven here, automatically. Had been pulled here by something…or pushed…maybe it was time to go in once more. Grabbing my purse, I stuffed my keys inside and hopped from the car.

It was so strange to see it now at night, the windows darkened. My fingers ran up the wrought iron railing, pausing to touch the crack in the wood door, a result of a moving mishap. I didn't carry my own key anymore, but I knew I would see the spare if I lifted the remains of a potted plant that sat on the step. It was cold and hard in my palm and I fitted it into the lock, but froze when it came time to turn it.

I needed to do this. I knew I needed to go in, and clear it all out, to not forget, but to let it pass. It was the only way; Jenny had said earlier in the spring, that I would ever move forward. Now all of a sudden things seemed to be pushing me to their will. There was Colin, who strove to cure my loneliness with the unlikely remedy of God; and Jenny and Liam who gave me time and space, but were anxious for me to be happy again. And then there was Murphy. I turned and leaned against the door, sliding down to sit on the step as I thought of him. Murphy was unknowingly, unintentionally, driving me to step forward, and it scared the shit out of me. One _boy_, that's all he was, a baseball player and a shit-disturber, and he had managed to occupy my every thought, pushing out lingering heartbreak over Joe and my own emptiness. I didn't want to be so full yet. Damn Murphy for making me feel like this.

I did the only thing I could think of at that moment. I opened up my purse and fished out my stash, which I always had on hand. Rolling a quick pinner, I leaned back against the door and lit it, and watched as the night passed me by. At some point, the tears came, and for the life of me, I still don't know if they were for the loss of Joe or the frightening thought of gaining something else.

* * *

"Put yer books away, Murph, it's Friday night an' we're gettin' steamed."

Murphy glanced up from Walt Whitman as Connor barged into the room and flung himself onto his brother's bed, making both boys bounce. When Murphy didn't say anything, Connor growled and snatched book away from Murphy's hands, rolling to the floor as he did.

"Oi, feck off, Conn," Murphy protested, surging after his brother.

Connor smirked and glanced at the page Murphy had been reading, scanning the words. "Ooh, this is good stuff, Murph." He cleared his throat and began to read in a mocking tone: "Hair, bosom, hips, bed of legs, negligent fallin' hands, all diffused, mine too diffused…" Connor frowned and fell silent for a moment, his eyes flicking down the words. Suddenly, his cheeks turned pink and he gaped back at his brother incredulously. "'Limitless limpid jets o' love hot and enormous'?" The fair twin snickered and danced away as Murphy made another grab for the book. Connor cackled maniacally and read some more. "'Quiverin' jelly o'love…white blow and delirious juice…" his voice died away, his eyebrows rising on his high forehead. "Hail Mary, Murphy, what the _feck_ is this?" Connor hissed, turning the cover back over. "Are ya pullin yer wire wit' dis or hopin' ta get up a skirt?" He snickered then, clearly beside himself with what he'd read.

Murphy fumed and lunged at his brother again, and soon enough, they were rolling on the floor, exchanging blows. As Murphy struggled to pin Connor, he grabbed for the book. Connor clung onto it. Just as Murphy managed to get a knee into his twin's chest, he heard a definite _rrrip_ and he looked down in horror at Márín's book in Connor's right hand, and the two pages Connor still clutched in his left.

"Ya fuckin' cocksucker, gimme that!" Murphy snapped, prying Connor's fingers free and standing. He jabbed him in the ribs with his foot for good measure, and then hurried to his desk, laying the book and the torn pages out flat. "Fuck," he uttered, raking a hand through his hair.

"What gives, eh?" Connor stood behind Murphy, peering over his shoulder, watching as Murphy's hands gently smoothed out the wrinkled pages. Connor knew how his brother felt about books and he immediately felt a pang of regret. "Shit, sorry Murph, didn't mean ta…"

"Yeah, well, it fuckin' happened, dinnit it?" Murphy snapped, folding the pages into the book and slamming it down on the desk.

"Fuckin' calm down," Connor chuckled, trying to lighten the mood. "The school isn't gonna get mad at ya cuz some pages got torn…"

"It's not the school's," Murphy sighed, sitting on the edge of his bed, his eyes still trained on the book.

Connor frowned and lifted the cover again. "Who the feck is Márín Guinness?"

"Nobody," Murphy growled, looking away. He felt sick. What had father McMahon said? _Márín will kill ya if ya disrespect her books_. Shit, it was bad enough he took it without asking her, permission from Father McMahon aside. Now he'd have to return it damaged.

Connor sank down next to his brother and clutched the back of Murphy's neck soothingly. He rubbed up and down in a steady motion, feeling the tension begin to release Murphy's muscles. "We can pick another one up in town on Sunday, good as new."

"S'all right," Murphy sighed, shrugging Connor aside. "I know ya didn't do it on purpose."

Connor nodded and was silent for a spell. "So," he finally said, moving off the bed and to the chest of drawers that housed their T shirts. He rummaged around for a spell and came up with two shirts: AC/DC and the Boston Celtics. "Which one?"

Murphy squinted, leaning forward to grab his cigarettes. "Ma gone?"

Connor shook his head. "Aye, she's gone," he nodded, giving the go ahead for Murphy to light up. "Come on, which one?" He held the shirts out again.

"Which one what?" Murphy asked, clearly not paying attention.

The lighter twin sighed. "Mickey Calhoun's parents are gone fer the weekend. There's a pisser on at his house, yeah? I think I can convince Molly ta let me go down on her. Gotta look good if I'm gonna talk me way inta her panties, aye?"

Murphy groaned, flopping back against his pillow. He smoked his cigarette for a moment. "I don't fuckin' know, the Celtics?"

Connor turned the shirts around, looking from one to the other. "Ah, yer right, doesn't matter. Gonna be dark in tha room anyway." He looked over to Murphy as he tugged his current shirt off and began to wrestle into the Celtics one. "Ye _are_ comin' tonight, right?" His head popped out of the collar and he began fussing with his wild blond hair.

Murphy weighed his options. He _could_ stay here, smoking cigarettes, stealing a few measures of Ma's whiskey, and obsess over what he was going to do about Márín's book. _Or_, he could go out, get buckled, and forget about it for a spell. Forget about everything. The night would drag on regardless; he was seeing her the next morning. Six am seemed like light years away. He wasn't worried about a hangover; he didn't get them. "Guess I'll come," he shrugged, taking another drag of his cigarette.

Connor snorted. "Don't sound so fuckin' cheerful, aye?" he groused. "I'm headin' there around eight," he announced as he stepped out of the room.

"Yeah," Murphy nodded, staring the ceiling. "I'll be ready."

* * *

"I'm _not_ going to play bridge, Colin," I huffed, raising my hands in refusal. My brother in law refused to move from where he stood in front of the TV, making it damn near impossible to catch a rerun of Knight Rider. Rolling my eyes up at him, I gestured to the TV. "D'ya mind?"

Colin glanced back to the screen. "It's a commercial. And why don't you come? There'll be lots of people there, you can meet some new faces, get out o'tha house…"

I tilted my head to one side. "First of all, people who play bridge are like…_old_," I said with a dismissive gesture.

"_I_ play bridge!" Colin chuckled indignantly.

"Present company excluded. Secondly, I don't even _know_ how to play bridge."

"That's why you should come, then" Colin reasoned with a pleading smile.

I shook my head. "I'm not going," I said with a final smirk. "I'm going to sit here and eat a giant bag of crisps and watch TV until I fall asleep." I shrugged. "Besides, I have to be up early tomorrow. Apparently there's a baseball game I need to go to after I work in the yard all morning."

Colin narrowed his eyes with a smile. "So you'll go to a baseball game and surround yourself by a bunch of people you don't know, but you wont' come to bridge with a bunch of people you don't know."

"Bridge is in the community hall basement," I pointed out. "Baseball, as far as I remember, is played outside." I waved him aside. "You better get going, you're going to be late. Wouldn't want all those blue-haired ladies gettin' antsy because Father McMahon is late."

"Fine," Colin sighed fondly. "I'll go out and have _fun_. You stay here and watch a program about a talking car."

"Can you throw me the crisps before ya leave?" I called as he moved into the kitchen. I heard the cupboard open and close a moment later, and bag of salt and vinegar crisps sailed in and landed with a faint crumple in front of the TV. "Thank you!" I called out. "Don't get into any trouble! Be nice ta the other old people!"

Colin growled. "Good _night_, Márín. No wild parties or invitin' guys over."

"Yeah right," I breathed as the back door closed behind Colin.

* * *

Murphy's ability to drink copious amounts of whiskey with little effect had been discovered on his and Connor's fifteenth birthday, when Mickey Calhoun had come across three bottles of Bushmills, stashed in the far reaches of the basement cellar, long forgotten by his parents. Murphy had managed to polish of a bottle on his own that night; Connor had spent the early hours before dawn puking his guts out. Flash forward three years, and nothing had changed, save for it took Connor a little longer to get sick off the booze. Murphy could usually still walk straight, but tonight, he had a stagger to his swagger. Things seemed to very…liquid. He felt a little bit like he was underwater, not really hearing anything for certain, conversations around him muffled. There were kids from his class all over the house, in varying degrees of inebriation. As he wandered past the kitchen, a small hand snaked out and grabbed the back of his worn blue t-shirt.

"Hey, Murphy," Katie Hanigan crooned, her smile slightly sloppy.

Murphy gave a fraction of a frown. "Hey," he muttered, blinking slowly. "Have ya seen Conn?"

Katie giggled and shook her head. "Ya more interested in that brother o'yers than ya are o'me?" She snickered, stumbling into his space, and suddenly her arms were looping about his shoulders.

Her ass seemed like a good place to rest his hands, and so he slid them there, toying with the beltloops on her jeans. The worn denim made him think of Márín's cut offs. She'd just gotten out of the shower the last time he'd seen her. What was with her being wet all the time? Murphy paused and thought about it for a moment.

When he looked up, he found that he had been backed into a small room off of the hallway, crammed with a desk and bookshelves. The den, he surmised, still wondering how he'd managed to get in there when the last thing he remembered was…

_Shit_…was that…was that a warm hand sliding along his ribs? Rucking his shirt up, tracing short nails down his skin. He blinked, thankful for the wall behind him, and he stared up at the ceiling. Márín kept her nails short. He heard the distinct click and _clang_ of a belt being tugged open. As his hips twisted, he felt the waistband of his jeans loosen, and then a hand pressed against his briefs and palmed the outline of his limp cock. He grunted and pushed the hand aside, closing his eyes briefly.

The owner of said hand was determined. Where was he again? Shit, he'd drank a lot of whiskey. He could really use a cigarette. He reached down, finding his pocket a little lower than normal, but successfully wrestled his smokes out. He shook his head. Something wet and soft pressed against the skin below his navel. Then, it moved lower. The hand was back, reaching further into his jeans, toying with the waist of his briefs. He fiddled with his lighter and finally managed to light a cigarette, breathing in deeply. He let his head rest up against the wall once more.

Where was he again?

He was irritated. He just wanted to float, to enjoy the weightless feeling of being buckled, maybe find Connor, chat with Mickey and Trick Matthews for a bit. But that damn hand was tugging, curling a clammy palm around his still soft length, pulling. He hissed sharply, clamping his cigarette between his teeth and reaching down with his hand to dislodge the one on his dick.

"Feck off," he mumbled, trying to tug his jeans back into place.

Down in front of him, near his knees, a reply floated up. "Just relax, Murph."

He frowned and cleared his throat, and leaned back into the wall, his jeans forgotten.

Just relax. He opened his eyes to bleary dimness. A lot of books in here. Books made him think of Márín. And that made him smile. His hips twitched and he groaned very softly as the tiniest stab of pleasure throbbed in his veins.

"There we go," the voice near his knees said. It sounded almost smug.

Murphy shook his head. Where the _fuck_ was he? He cleared his throat, taking the smoke from his mouth, and flicking the ash onto the carpet. "What are ya doin?" he mumbled softly.

A giggle surrounded him. "If I have ta tell ya _that_, Murphy MacManus, then maybe we'd better start off someplace else."

He didn't like the sweet curl of that voice, didn't like the way it said words. He frowned and pulled away from the wall again. But he found himself pinned, hands pushing him back, that sugary voice shushing him. The sucking, wet cavern of a mouth suddenly closed around the half-teased head of his cock and he stiffened, slamming back into the wall, and shaking his head. "No," he muttered, pushing at shoulders, wrenching his hips aside. "Don't," he pleaded. He winced as the pressure suddenly increased. "Stop," he whispered to the shadows. He reached down blindly.

"Murphy, calm down."

He grunted, found the jaw connected to the mouth that continued to slobber over him and his face pulled into a confused grimace. "I said fuckin' stop," he replied, louder.

"It's okay," the voice tried to soothe.

Murphy skidded sideways along the wall, crashing into a bookcase, hearing a scrabble along the carpet, followed by an indignant curse.

"Jesus _Christ_, Murphy, what the hell?"

His hand found a lightswitch and he flicked it, blinking in the sudden blaring brightness at the flushed – and furious – face of Katie Hanigan came into focus. She was on her knees, hunched forward, breathing heavily, her lipstick smeared at the corner of her mouth.

"Fuck," Murphy uttered, quickly righting himself and tugging the zipper of his jeans up. "What the _fuck_, Katie?" he growled.

She sputtered and rose to her feet, scowl firmly in place. "Fuck you, Murphy," she snapped, and her hand rose and swung out, slapping him firmly across the cheek. "Ya fuckin' _prude_." Katie huffed and turned on her heel, and almost ripped the door off its hinges as she opened it. The sound of the party rushed in, and she threw one last sour look over her shoulder before her mouth pulled into a nasty smirk. She left him there.

Five minutes later a voice rose up from somewhere on the second floor. It was followed by a string of curses, and then arguing, and finally, feet thundering down the steps. Then, the door to the room where Murphy still reeled swung open and he tilted his head down, blinking at the sight of Connor standing, shirt in one hand and wiping his mouth on the back of the other.

"What the fuck, Murph?" he growled, moving into the room. Curious faces peeked in after Connor, glancing between the brothers, trying to get an ounce of gossip.

Murphy shrugged and waved Connor off. "It's all right," he answered slowly. He waved in the direction of the party. "She's just pissed cuz I didn't want her ta blow me."

Connor's eyebrows went up at that, and furrowed. He glanced over his shoulder, throwing a warning glare at the onlookers. They quickly scattered, leaving the brothers alone. Connor turned back to Murphy. "Ya tellin' me ya turned down a knob job?" he asked incredulously. "A girl was perfectly willin' ta put yer cock in her mouth – she was down on her knees an' ya brushed her off?"

Murphy scowled. It sounded kinda stupid, in hindsight, but he was certain there was a perfectly good reason for brushing the girl off. He rubbed his face. "She fuckin' slapped me, Conn."

"What a cunt," Connor muttered. He peered closely at his brother. "Ya didn't hit her first, did ya? She was the one cryin - "

Murphy sneered and shoved his brother back. "Fuck, Conn, don't be a prick!"

"Okay, all right. I had ta ask." He rubbed his chin and then, realizing he was standing without his shirt on, tugged the worn cotton over his head. "I'll talk to her, aye?" He shook his head, eyeing Murphy. Now Connor really _was_ confused. Murphy had been acting strange all week, but _this_ was something entirely different.

"No, don't, you'll only make it worse," Murphy groaned. "I'll talk to her."

"I don't think she wants ta see yer face right now," Connor pointed out.

"Not now, she's fuckin' buckled; she doesn't know what she's doin'." He paused, running his hands through is hair. "Fuck, neither do _I_," he groused. "I'll talk to her, aye? Tomorrow, when we're both sober." He looked at Connor then, and despite the fact he'd pulled his shirt back on, he still looked more dishevelled than normal. "Ah, fuck me, ya were busy, weren't ya?"

Connor's face split into a grin and he sighed, slinging an arm around Murphy's shoulders. "Jesus, Murph, pryin' her legs open was like squeezin' blood from a rock, aye? But I got a lick." He winked and pressed his lips to Murphy's cheek wetly.

"Lord's name," Murphy growled. He shoved Connor off with a grin and rubbed his cheek. "Well, don't let me keep ya from a midnight snack, aye?" He moved to the doorway. He needed to get out. Needed to get away from this, this disappointing display of misplaced lust and abandonment. He didn't want half-truths and groping in front of his classmates. He didn't want to be touched unless it was Márín doing the touching.

"Where ya off to?" Connor called.

Murphy raised one shoulder in a half a shrug. "Get another drink," he replied. He wandered out into the hallway. From the hallway, he wandered into his sweater and shoes, out the back door, and into the night.

* * *

I'd managed to finish the crisps but sleep was a little more elusive. Colin was home and in bed for an hour and I was still flipping channels, my brain refusing to shut off. The joint I'd smoked soon after Colin had fallen into bed was working its way through my system. My thoughts were wavering all over the place, bouncing from Joe to Murphy, to Jenny, to the fence I was starting on in the morning, and then, inevitably, back to Murphy. Now, it was past midnight and I pulled myself from the couch with a growl, palming my cigarettes in one hand and my jean jacket in the other. I stepped off the back steps and lit a smoke, and wandered into the church yard.

The evenings were a little more seasonable, weather wise. It was nice and cool, and that would no doubt burn off by sunrise, but for now, I'd take it. The crispness worked to clear my mind, and soon I found myself wandering along the gravel road that led from the church to the north end of town. I wasn't in any danger; Wicklow was a yawn in the middle of the day. I was probably the only one out here at this time of night.

When I saw the glowing cherry of a cigarette coming from up the road, I knew I was wrong. It was most likely a straggler coming home from the Anvil; my suspicions were confirmed when whoever it was stopped, leaned their forearm against a fencepost, and paused. There was a metallic jingle, like change in a pocket, and then, the unmistakable sight of an arc of urine, followed by a satisfied groan. I snorted as I moved out to give them a wide berth.

"Have a good night," I chuckled as I moved past.

"Shit – sorry," I heard a young voice answer, followed by the hurried rustle of fabric.

There was a rough drawl to that voice, one that raked across my nerves and caused my heart to pause.

"Murphy?" I said quietly.

"Ah – fuck, Márín," he exclaimed, turning so that his face was suddenly visible in the light coming off of the lamppost. "Sorry, I'm…" he wrinkled his nose and shook his head, and his blue eyes drifted off.

He smelled like smoke and whiskey – a _lot_ of whiskey, and I had a pretty good notion he was steamed. "Are you drunk?" I ventured, feeling a smile form on my face. If he was, he seemed to be in a pretty good mood. He smiled broadly as he focused on me.

"I'm fuckin' scuttered, girl," he chuckled proudly, rocking back on his heels.

I rolled my eyes, remembering my youth. "Let me drive ya," I offered, knowing that a ride when you were that drunk was a life saver.

Murphy, however, straightened up, and waved the offer off. "M'fine," he shrugged. "S'not far." He paused then and looked me up and down. "What are ya doin' out here?"

I looked around us, at the deserted street, the way the shadows seemed to darken after midnight. "Goin' fer a walk."

"So let's walk t'gether," he suggested, waving at the road before us.

I could think of worse ideas. My mouth had already answered 'yes' before I could make an excuse, find some mundane reason to shake my head and retreat back to the church. But in that one instant, that second that Murphy gave me a slightly bleary-eyed glance and decided that we should go as one instead of separate ways, I jumped. Midnight does funny things to a person; suddenly I felt my veins begin to re-wrap themselves up and down my limbs and the high still lingering from the weed flooded back, making me fall into step with him.

There was a pause, a rustling of pockets, and then the click of his lighter sounded. I paused to watch, to see the sudden bursting flare of flame cupped in his hands, illuminating his face. Up close, in the stark shadows and bright orange, his features lost the roundness of lingering youth and, just like in the greenhouse, I couldn't look away from his high cheekbones and deep-set eyes. The light was snuffed out as quickly as it came to life, and then smoke circled around his head as he pulled his hands away. Between pursed lips he held two cigarettes. He offered one of them to me.

"S'all right," he winked, gesturing to the cigarette he held out before me. "I don't have cooties. Made sure not ta kiss her."

His comment piqued my interest. "Kiss who?"

"_Whom_," Murphy corrected stuffily. "Katie Hanigan," he replied a second later. He frowned and rubbed his bottom lip.

A giggle suddenly bubbled up from me and I looked at him closely. "Where _were_ you tonight, Murphy?"

He stopped walking and sighed as his head tilted to one side. "Ah, say m'name again, aye?"

Cautiously, I took a step forward. "Are y'all right?"

His head rolled across his shoulders and seemed to shake himself back to some semblance of sobriety. "M'fine," he lamented softly. "Just…thinkin' too much." He glanced down, noticing that he still held the cigarette he initially offered to me. "Here," he said again, a little rougher. "Unless ya want me ta smoke it fer ya, as well?"

I took it, shooting him a wary glance. "Which way is your house?"

He stopped walking again, shaking his head. "I don't want ta fuckin' go 'ome." He turned a pleading look on me.

I stared at him for a moment, watching another smile form on his lips. I couldn't help but mirror it. All too easily I remembered what being drunk like that, at that age, was like. Too many thoughts. Too many questions. Too much to decide and so answers were foggy at best.

"Ya smell like weed."

I snapped out of my reverie and frowned hard. "Say that again?"

Murphy cocked his head and pulled his cigarette from his mouth and was suddenly in my space, his nose pressed into my hair. He drew in a deep breath and let out a small, airy sigh. "I said, ya smell like weed." He pulled back and looked me in the eye. "D'ya smoke, then?"

My mouth opened and closed uselessly, silently. "I…uh…"

"Gis a puff, then," he purred, cocking an eyebrow as his feet kicked along the gravel.

I took a small step back. Distance was probably a good thing at the moment. Why did it always seem like he was invading me, my space? And why did it always seem like a chore to put an arm's length between us. I shook my head and put a hand out, gently pushing at his arm. "I think ya should go home an' sleep it off, Murphy."

He heard his name and grinned. "I don't think my name has ever sounded so good," he purred, taking a chance to close in on me again.

I shook my head once more. "No, Murphy, I really think…"

He shook _his_ head. "I think ya think too much," he whispered. His hand moved out and tangled fingers with mine. He gave a swift, firm tug forward and my shoes skipped along the pebbled shoulder of the road.

I froze, teetering on my tiptoes as he dragged me up the length of his body, his hips suddenly rolling against mine. He reeked of whiskey but the bleary vacancy I expected to see when I looked up at him was absent, and instead he seemed to look at me as if I suddenly appeared out of thin air. His hands took a firm hold of me, one at my hip, and the other on the opposite flank, sliding hotly under the jean jacket I'd thrown over my thin t-shirt.

Quick as lightening, he dove in, and I had just enough time to angle my head away and put a hand on his collarbone, digging my fingers into his flesh. "Murphy," I growled, shoving him back. "Yer drunk."

He snorted, clearly not put off by my attempt to out-manoeuvre his lips. "An yer fuckin' stoned, Márín."

"That doesn't mean I've lost all reason of right and wrong." I pushed him back another inch and his hands slid from my body, leaving a cold vacancy behind.

His eyes turned hard. "Ya were sober the other day, far as I could tell."

"I…I shouldn't have done that," I answered lamely. Shit, I was such a bad liar. But I pressed on, rambling. "Shouldn't have let you kiss me."

"_Let_ me kiss you?" he scoffed. His hand tugged through his hair as he turned and paced along the road for a moment. Then he was back, looming over me with a sharp glance, his cigarette tucked in the corner of his mouth. His hands landed on my shoulders, anchoring me hard. "Christ, woman, I was _there_. It got you hot just as hot as it did me."

Silence crept between us, the brevity of his words sinking smoothly into my guts with searing remembrance. I blinked up at him. I couldn't tell him he was wrong; every word of denial I said to him sounded so fucking fake, and it made me sick to think of him being able to see right through me. His nostrils flared and he tore the cigarette away from his mouth, tossing it aside. "An' now ya don't have a fuckin' thing ta say," he growled roughly before grabbing my face between his hands.

His kiss was hard, matching the edge of his voice, and his tasted flooded my mouth as his jaw worked mine open. I could barely keep up; one second his tongue flickered against mine, sending sparks of white-hot lust through my body, and then next his teeth were closing down on my bottom lip, tugging, snapping my nerve endings together like live wires. His hands grabbed at me, fisting in my hair and then dragging heavily down my chest, palming the swollen mounds of my breasts through a layer of t-shirt and denim jacket before squeezing so hard it edged on brutal. Then, he shoved the layers of cloth up, his palms hot and heavy as he squeezed up my ribs, the very tips of his fingers brushing the delicate satin of my bra.

I cried out in alarm, the sound drowned by his mouth, and I fought against him, looking for the upper hand, trying to grasp the control that was quickly slipping through my fingers. But my hands that had torn at his shirt and pressed uselessly against his chest were suddenly stroking down the solid perch of his shoulders, sliding along the warm, firm skin of his neck, digging into his dark hair, pulling him down to drown with me. Boldly, I slid one palm down his chest and rested it low on his belly, feeling heat pool before he grunted sharply and twisted his hips. His fingers suddenly circled my wrist and shoved my hand lower as his pelvis canted up, and he pulled away with a breathless moan as my hand cupped, and then brazenly squeezed the sizeable ridge of his cock that butted against the fly of his jeans. Once more, his mouth crashed into mine and my arm hooked over his shoulders to pull him closer.

* * *

_This _was what he wanted. What he craved. Márín's hand was almost scorching him through his jeans, and though he moved it over his rapidly growing erection, she took over, squeezing him firmly, pressing the heel of her palm against the length of him. It felt good. _Really_ good. Almost _too_ good. He forced his focus to his fingertips, where they skimmed against the underside of her small breasts, the satin of her bra snagging on the fine ridges of his fingerprints. She kissed him back with a ferocity that matched his; he knew she wanted this – _him_ – as much as he wanted her. The way she tugged at his shoulders was self-explanatory and he was rocked by a sudden thought of _her_ on her knees, looking up at him, all but begging to suck…

He growled as his head changed angles, and then reluctantly pulled away. Anymore, and he'd be coming in his pants like…well, like the teenage boy she thought of him as. But she felt good, still did as he struggled to catch his breath and watch the myriad of emotions that spilled over her features. He came back to himself, there on the roadside, locked in a heated embrace with a woman almost twice his age. _A woman_, his mind pointed out, _that traced her lips with his tongue, lips swollen from his own kisses, and whose palm still lingered on the fly of his jeans_.

Silently, he begged her to react. To reach for him, or push him away, to yell, to sigh, to do anything but stare up at him like he had just blown her mind to pieces. That look ran straight through him, thrilling him to the bone. He'd gotten through to her. He smiled gently. _Good_. He began tugging her shirt down from where he'd pushed it up, straightening her jacket, all the while his fingers shaking. His breath still stuttered in his lungs. With some reluctance, he finally caught her hand and gently pried her fingers from his fly. Still holding her hand, he searched her face, looking for any sign of regret. When he found none, he leaned close once more so that she had no choice but to stare into his eyes while he raised the stakes.

"Next time," he began lowly, as one by one her fingers slipped from his hand,"yer gonna kiss _me_."


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N: So, this chapter did not want to be written...hence the delay. But, I cranked it out. This kinda went up and down for a bit; there's some steam, but mostly it's interaction of the main characters with secondary ones to build some plot and, as a result, some drama. I don't feel it's as good as the first four chapters, but I've done worse in less words! Anyway, thanks again for stopping by, I do not own anything MacManus or their likenesses, but everything else is mine._

_Thanks to: **songster, Felixferox, Leyshla Gisel, Valerie E Mackin, Jamison, Vexingvixen7, reedus fan, Effigy, Little Miss Tightly Wound, Nmbr1fanilow, Pitbullsrok, and siarh** for your lovely reviews. I've said it often: I don't write for the reviews, but they are more than welcome and like manna from heaven. If I left anyone out, my apologies!_

_Is it wrong that I spent 4 hours watching two movies JUST to see Norman Reedus' small (but nonetheless brilliant) roles? Props to Jeremy in 'Mimic', that was hilarious, and I admit I scrolled '8mm' back just to hear Warren say 'titty' and 'tits' a few times. Shameless, I know._

**_OH YEAH! ABOUT THAT 18TH BIRTHDAY...IT'S COMING, PEOPLE...WE GOTTA GET THRU DINNER AND THE SPRING FORMAL, AND THEN CONNOR AND MURPHY ARE ON THEIR WAY TO DUBLIN TO CELEBRATE, IRISH_ _STYLE..._**

* * *

I woke with the taste of whiskey lingering on my tongue. This, of course, was a result of my dream, an incredibly vivid dream where the kiss I shared with Murphy on the side of the road turned into a rough, heated fuck, hips banging and tongues lashing the whole time. To say I was vibrating as I slowly sat up was an understatement. My hand fumbled clumsily to locate the lamp, and then my watch. It was almost six already. I'd finally managed to nod off just before two, mind still busy with replaying the evening, and now, four hours later, it kicked into overdrive.

The house was still dark, still quiet, and I took a moment to make coffee and stare at the bottom of the sink while I rinsed the plates from dinner the night before. _Had_ that kiss actually happened? Or had that been the result of too much weed, like the rest of the dream? I reached with one hand and carefully pressed my fingertips to my lips. Still tingling, remembering the force of Murphy's kiss. My breasts twinged, as if they could remember the way he had grabbed at me. And between my thighs, I positively ached. I'd touched him, felt evidence of his arousal and desire with my own fingers. He'd been heavy, solid, and I felt my cheeks heat as I remembered how large he'd been. Briefly, my mind entertained the thought of my hand barely being able to close around him, thumb to forefinger. Jesus Christ. He didn't kiss like a boy. Didn't talk like a boy, look, smell, or taste like a boy. Age, it seemed, was just a number, terribly cliché, but brutally honest. I shifted from one foot to the other as the ache between my thighs ratcheted up a notch.

A light rap on the back door broke me from my thoughts. I froze, glancing to the clock on the stove as the coffee maker hissed and sputtered. Six am. Right on the dot. Cautiously, I glanced over my shoulder and saw Murphy standing on the back porch, head tilted down as he cupped a hand around his lighter and lit a cigarette. When he looked up from his task, the corner of his mouth pulled up just a bit, and my stomach fluttered. His eyes lingered on me once more, and then he turned and leaned against the railing, a plume of smoke sailing from his lungs.

Setting the dishes aside, I took a breath and held it, steeling myself. I was high last night. He'd been completely on his ass from what I could only assume was a barrel of whiskey. It had been a stupid move, born of substance abuse and…and…

_And what_? My inner voice scoffed. _An undeniable attraction_?

I sighed heavily and glanced at the coffee maker. I could do this. I could handle this situation. I'd have to handle it; there was no way I could let this go any further than it already had. I was the adult. I needed to take control.

I stole another quick glance at the back porch. This was not going to be easy. I crossed the kitchen floor and pulled the door open a few inches.

"Mornin'," I greeted softly.

Murphy was in the middle of a great drag off his cigarette, cheekbones cutting away in the silvery dawn, and so he merely raised an eyebrow and made a noise of acknowledgement.

"Coffee?" I asked.

He blew out the smoke and pitched his half-smoked cigarette off the side of the stairs. "Aye," he rumbled softly, pulling the door open wider and stepping inside.

He was sure to brush against me as he passed, and I didn't move away, raising my eyes to his face as he sauntered by. "Murphy," I called out, pausing when I heard my voice.

His shoulders tensed and he stopped at the sink where I'd set out a pair of mugs. He fiddled with one of them for a moment before turning to look over his shoulder. "Aye?"

"Ah…" I shook my head and ran a hand through my hair. "About last night," I began lamely.

Murphy blinked and set the mug down, then turned to fully face me. He leaned against the sink behind him, crossing his arms over his chest and making his biceps bulge as he did. "Aye?" he asked again, raising an eyebrow.

I tore my gaze away from his arms, and how they seemed to show of the definition of his chest. How thin was that T shirt he was wearing? I looked to his face, seeing a look of shameless self satisfaction. I narrowed my eyes in return. "It shouldn't have happened," I pointed out.

He shrugged. "But it did," he replied.

Okay, so hoping it was my imagination was clearly off the table. "Yes, it did," I agreed brusquely. "And I'm sorry."

Murphy nodded. "I'm not."

I groaned, rolling my eyes. "Okay, let me put it another way. It shouldn't have happened," I repeated, "and it can't happen again."

Murphy nodded again, but then the solemnity slipped from his face and grinned broadly. Leaning forward, he gave me a cheeky smirk. "I already told ya, Márín," he said lowly, his voice laden with edgy confidence, "I'm done kissin' _you_. Next time, yer gonna kiss me." His head suddenly cocked to one side and I turned towards the hall, hearing the toilet flush.

Seconds later, Colin appeared in the kitchen, in his bathrobe and sweatpants, rubbing his eyes. "Good mornin'!" he exclaimed brightly, moving to the coffee machine. "Ah, lass, I ever tell ya what a good cuppa ya make?" He reached into the cupboard and grabbed a mug. "Murphy, I don't know if ya drink coffee, but if ya do, I suggest ya get on this b'fore I drink it all. Márín makes a mean cup o'joe." He turned and busied himself with fixing his cup.

I whipped my gaze back to Murphy who grinned slowly. "That right?" he asked lightly, moving to grab a mug. "Glad I'm here in tha mornin'," he replied. He watched as Colin poured coffee into his mug.

Colin nodded enthusiastically. "If she's in a _really_ good mood, she'll make pancakes. Never tasted anything like em." He moved to the fridge for cream.

"Well, then I guess I hope ta see ya some mornin'," Murphy drawled, looking directly at me, "in a really good mood." He winked and nodded when Colin turned back and offered cream. The two of them then moved off to the back door and out onto the deck, Colin talking rapidly about plans for the fence that day, and I was left standing, gaping after both of them.

Had that just happened? Here I was, trying to grapple control from Murphy, and he steamrolled right over me, somehow gaining the upper hand once more. Growling at the audacity of youth, I yanked open a drawer for a spoon, and dumped a healthy amount of sugar into my coffee. I almost cracked the sides of the mugs stirring, and when I glanced up to the window overlooking the deck, my hand faltered when I was met with Murphy's intense gaze. Coffee sloshed over the sides of my mug, burning me, and I swore sharply, turning from the window and sucking on the scorched skin. Smug little shit, I sneered mentally. My mouth curled up into a smile, however, and I stormed out of the kitchen to my room, angry with Murphy, angrier at myself, and dreading the next five hours. Somehow, I'd have to get through it and act unaffected. I could do this, I told myself. After all, I'd spent five years telling myself I was attracted to someone. How hard could it be to tell myself there was nothing between Murphy and me for five hours?

* * *

Murphy crouched and drove another stake into the ground where Father McMahon indicated. So far, they were only plotting plumb lines to outline the fence. If they worked quickly enough, Father McMahon had explained, they could probably get the post holes dug and filled by lunch, and Murphy would be free to head to his game. Baseball was the furthest thing from the young Irishman's mind; the only thing he could concentrate on was Márín, kneeling down in the dirt next to the pansies, wearing an impossibly tight red T shirt. And, he was fairly certain she wasn't wearing a bra. _Again_. He couldn't tell if she was doing it deliberately or not, but he had an inkling that he was wearing down her defences, if that kiss was any indication. He shifted where he was perched, and pressed a hand against groin. Squatting with a hard on, according to Dougie Burke, was not comfortable.

"I was thinkin'," Father McMahon called, pulling Murphy back to the task at hand, "that you and yer mother and brother might like to come by for dinner tomorrow night."

Murphy paused, quickly sliding his eyes towards Márín who was still working in the garden, and still, as far as he was concerned, doing her best to keep distance between them. He looked back to the priest and smiled. The world, it seemed, would not do Márín's bidding and was conspiring to throw them together at every chance. He nodded as he pulled his end of the line and moved down the row with Father McMahon.

"Aye," he said. "I think that would be all right. Have ta check with Ma, but I'm sure she won't pass up an opportunity to not cook."

Father McMahon smiled, motioning for Murphy to stop and place another marker. "Márín likes ta cook," he revealed, "if yer Ma is game ta bring her apple pie."

Again, Murphy nodded. "I'll ask her t'night," he promised. "But maybe mention it ta her at service t'morrow, aye? It's harder fer her ta say 'no' to a priest." He grinned and glanced back at Márín. "She doesn't mind cookin' fer tha lot of us?"

"I don't think so," Father McMahon replied. "She'll be all right with it, don't worry."

Murphy eyed Father McMahon for another second. It seemed as though the Lord was working on his side. The day was looking up. He'd have to say an extra Lord's Prayer over his baseball before the opening pitch. Stealing another glance of Márín, who was still doing her damndest to ignore him, he chuckled, and then turned back to his task, listening to Father McMahon's instructions.

* * *

"We're havin' guests for dinner tomorrow night," Colin announced as he entered the kitchen. It was close to lunch and I had slipped away from my work under the pretence of making lunch for us all.

I was actually avoiding Murphy, and I'd been doing a pretty good job of it, too, despite the fact I swore I could feel his eyes on my every five minutes. It took every ounce of willpower _not_ to turn around and acknowledge him. He didn't need any more fuel for his fire.

I blinked at the ham and rye laid out before me and looked at Colin. "What's that?"

"Dinner," he replied, opening the fridge. "Tomorrow night." He rummaged for a bit. "Haven't we got anythin' besides Guinness?"

"We _only_ ever have Guinness," I replied, still trying to compute the other part of his sentence. "What about dinner tomorrow night?"

"I can't offer him a beer…I'm his priest!" Colin chuckled, turning back to me with a shake of his head.

I rolled my eyes with a scoff and pushed him aside. "Jesus Christ, Colin, he's almost eighteen," I replied, pulling three beers out and setting them on the counter.

A heavy silence crept around me and I looked back at Colin from over my shoulder. He frowned and quickly made the sign of the cross.

A pang of regret thumped me in the chest. "Forgive me, Colin. I shouldn't have taken the Lord's name in vain."

"Aye," he huffed with a bit of a scowl. He eyed the beers once more. "D'ya think it will be all right?"

"I'm sure he's had more than a beer before, Col." I handed him the opener. "Now, before you get distracted again: what is this about dinner tomorrow night?"

He nodded as he swiftly popped the top on all three beers, although he slightly hesitated on the third. "I've invited Murphy and his mother and brother over for dinner tomorrow night. It's been quite some time since we've had company, and I know how much you like cooking for people."

"Ah…" An uncomfortable chuckle flitted out of my mouth and I began preparing another sandwich to add to the pile. "I suppose that would be all right," I muttered, already thinking of the myriad of problems something like that could involve.

"Connor's quite the opposite of Murphy – loud, a little brash, but still a very well-mannered young man. Annabelle is quite the same."

"So, he takes after his father?" I heard myself ask.

"Who, Murphy?"

"Aye," I shrugged.

Colin paused, and fiddled with a bottle cap. "I would assume so. I mean, I've never met the man. Far as I know, he left before the boys were two."

"Oh," I replied, suddenly a little sad.

"At any rate, both boys have grown to be fine young men, the lingering trappings of youth aside. I will say this, however: I was more than a little surprised when Annabelle MacManus informed me that it was _Murphy_ who was responsible for the stolen Baby Jesus. Something like that seemed to have Connor written all over it."

"Yes, well, somethin' tells me that Murphy is more than capable of gettin' into mischief." I looked up at Colin and tilted my head at his smile. "What are ya smilin' at?"

"You like him."

My heart leapt to my throat and began to choke me. "What?" I laughed, trying to make it sound like Colin's observation was the most absurd thing I'd ever heard. I felt heat begin to flood my face and I busied myself gathering the sandwich fixings up and stuffing them back into the fridge.

"You like working with him, I mean. I've heard you two talking, here and there. So I know he makes you laugh. He's quite well read, and very smart – well, both of them are. Annabelle had them speaking French and Spanish before they could write their names, and I have it on good authority that Murphy knows quite a bit of Russian, too. I thought you two would get along, seeing as how your nose is always buried in a book. What are you reading these days?"

"Not much as of Wednesday. Strangest thing. I picked up Walt Whitman again on Monday night, but when I went looking for it on Wednesday after dinner, it was gone."

"Oh, Márín, I'm sorry, I didn't realise you were reading it again," Colin announced as he picked up the platter of sandwiches and moved to the door.

"What are you talking about?"

"Walt Whitman?" he repeated as he opened the door and took a step onto the porch. "I told Murphy he could borrow it when he came by that afternoon." He gave me another smile and moved outside where he called out Murphy's name and beckoned him to come and eat.

At Colin's admission, my cheeks turned pink once more. Murphy was reading Walt Whitman? That was quite a chunk of free verse for someone his age, but at the same time, I had a feeling he'd not only be able to handle it, but he'd enjoy it immensely. I had read and reread that book so many times that some of the page numbers were wearing off and the cover was frayed along the edges. I'd written notes in the margins, musings, as I listened to professors read from and try to make their own conclusions of the imagery present. I wondered which sections Murphy had read, which ones he liked the most. Did they affect him as they had me, late at night, in solitude? Something about Whitman's works was beautifully sensual, and it made my imagination run rampant. Did it do the same thing for Murphy?

I was torn from my thoughts as I heard the back door creak open. Murphy leaned in, wiping at a smudge of dirt on his cheek with the back of his hand. "Hello," he said softly. "Father McMahon said I could come in and wash up."

"Oh," I said, startled. It was quite unnerving to all of a sudden be faced with the person you had been daydreaming about. I waved at the sink. "Please, go ahead."

He smiled again and moved into the kitchen. I watched as his hands turned the taps on and then pushed his sleeves up. Standing behind him, I took in how his shoulders moved, the way he tilted his head to one side as he scrubbed his fingers and up the length of his arms. As he rinsed his hands, he leaned forward over the sink and sluiced water of his face and then the back of his neck, and in the bright afternoon sun, I watched the rivulets of water steal down the tanned skin of his neck. I suddenly wanted very badly to see the freckles on his shoulders and upper chest.

My staring must have affected him as much as his did me, because suddenly I was no longer staring at his back, but at his wonderfully tilted, clear blue eyes. I had nothing prepared to say to him and couldn't bring myself to look anyplace but him. I'd spent all morning looking everywhere else when what I wanted was right in front of me.

The wicked streak of confidence he wore so well began to falter under my intense gaze and when the pink appeared on his cheekbones, I knew that he was finally feeling a little unsure of himself. It felt good to bring him down a notch, down to my level. He gave a little cough and looked down at the towel he was twisting in his hands. "I should…ah…" he gave a soft snort and shook his head. Then he looked me in the eye. "I should go eat. Coach Murdoch wants us at the field by one and it's getting on half noon."

"Of course," I nodded. "Colin says you did a good job today."

"Yeah," he nodded, ducking his head once more to look at me from under his brows. "Um…" he gestured behind him to the door. "So…I'm gonna go…eat now," he repeated, blushing harder.

I suppressed my amusement and nodded once more. "All right."

With his stare still firmly in place, he fumbled behind him for the door handle, swearing softly when he finally had to turn around and yank it open. "Hey," he said, reaching up to the hook on the back of the door. "Yav got me cap." He moved to take it.

"'The expression of the body of man or woman balks account,'" I began, moving to stand beside him, one step behind. I reached up under his hand and grasped the cap, feeling the heat from his body.

He froze at my words and quickly looked over his shoulder at me, sweeping his gaze long and hard from my mouth to my eyes, and then back to my mouth. "'The male is pair-fect,'" he continued thickly. "An' that o'the female is pair-fect.'" I could feel the very faint tremble of his body, the vibration of his voice, I stood so close to him. I could smell the fresh scent of earth and soap, and that thing that was uniquely Murphy.

"Impressive," I murmured gently, pulling his hat free of his fingertips and taking a step back. "You can have yer hat when I get me book back."

He opened his mouth to protest, but I silenced him with a raised eyebrow. "It's me lucky hat," he protested.

I gave him a half shrug that resembled his lazy lifting of a single shoulder. "It's me favourite book."

He huffed and narrowed his eyes, a small smile forming on his lips. "Fine," he growled. "But I'm not done wit' it yet."

"Take yer time," I said breezily, clutching his hat harder and taking a step back. Leaning back against the counter, I jammed the worn baseball cap onto my head and winked. "It should be savoured," I explained. I dared to let my gaze wander down to the front of his jeans. "It should be enjoyed." My gaze then sailed back up to his. "Good luck at your game today."

He swallowed thickly and nodded before fumbling once more with the door knob. He was successful seconds later, dashing onto the back porch. I was left feeling a little more than triumphant. _Finally_ I'd turned the tables on him.

* * *

She'd worn his hat to the game.

For someone who protested against the obvious attraction between them, she was doing a damn fine job of instigating more than a few fantasies. Like, her wearing his hat. And nothing else. He grinned, tossing the ball lightly with his right hand. Hail Mary, she had smelled amazing at lunch, pressed up behind him as she quoted Whitman. Like honey and sweet, new grass. He was pretty sure that he felt her nipples brush the back of his arm; her warm, breath ghosting over the back of his neck had made his jeans unbearably tight. He was just glad that Father McMahon had stepped off the back deck to inspect the wellbeing of a birdhouse. He wasn't so sure he'd be able to explain away a hard on to his priest.

"MacManus, you playin' ball t'day? Or ya just gonna sit there grinnin' like a fool fer the afternoon?"

Murphy was startled out of his fantasy and blinked up at Coach Murdoch who was pacing the dugout. The older man waved an arm towards the field. "It's a close game, boyo, an' I need ya ta get the next three out as quickly as possible. Bottom o' tha fifth." He peered closely at his young pitcher, knowing all too well the familiar look of love-struck stupidity. Coach Murdoch shook his head. "I get tha feelin' that ya don't want ta be out here fer any longer than necessary, so let's put these bozos ta bed, aye?" His voice grew louder as he finished his pep talk. "Yer _Warriors_, fer Chrissake," he cried, crossing himself swiftly. "Get out on that field and _act_ like it!"

There was a round of raucous yelling 'aye', 'amen', and the like, and Murphy and his teammates flooded the field. The sun was merciless that afternoon and he was sweating beneath the black top of his uniform. Out on the mound, he shifted in his cleats, digging into the dirt and reaching down to adjust his cup. Thankful that Ma was absent, he spit to one side, and then threw a few practices balls to Dougie while they waited for the first batter up.

He was just digging his toe into the board when he felt a sudden urge to look up into the crowd. Father McMahon had made sure that they found good seats, and he could make out the long, waving ends of Márín's gold hair, the top of it sitting snugly beneath his Red Sox cap. She'd changed, too, from her gardening grubs, and was wearing a slouchy white t-shirt, the thin strap of a camisole peeking out of the gaping neckline, and cut off shorts. He couldn't see her legs for the bloke sitting in front of her, but that didn't mean he didn't crane his neck, trying to see. And that was when his eyes narrowed and he watched as Connor picked his way down the row and stopped when he reached Father McMahon.

"T'day, MacManus!" the home plate umpire called.

Murphy glanced, seeing the batter crowding the box, and hoped Dougie noticed it, too. Sure enough, the sign for a slider came, and Murphy wound up, and cast one final glance in his brother's – and Márín's – direction.

* * *

"Are ya enjoyin' tha game, Father?" A young man asked as he stopped walking, arms laden with cups of lemonade and a bag of popcorn. He was teenage-dream cute, with golden skin and a wild mess of sandy brown hair, and he walked with a sauntering cockiness born of knowing just how good looking he was.

"Aye," Colin nodded with a wide smile. "Yer brother is a natural."

"Yer brother?" I piped up, leaning forward.

The young man turned to me again and pinned me with a familiar blue gaze. He focused on the hat I was wearing and then back on me, giving me a curious grin.

Colin was already making introductions. "Ah, that's right, you haven't met! Márín, this is Murphy's brother, Connor MacManus. Connor, my sister-in-law, Márín."

Connor's grin only grew more curious as he set down a cup of lemonade on the bench and extended his hand. "Márín Guinness?" he asked.

My hand was already in his when I heard him say my maiden name. I blinked, slightly confused. I was still going by McMahon these days. "Aye," I nodded briefly. "That's right."

Connor sucked on his cheek for a moment as he shook my hand firmly. "Well then," he said softly. "Now I see what all the fuss is about."

Suddenly, the crowd erupted in anger and jeers rose out, directed at the umpire. "Bad call!" someone yelled. "That was a strike, ya dirty sheep fucker!" another called.

Connor glanced over his shoulder, and I leaned to one side, and even though we were twenty feet from him, there was no mistaking Murphy's blaring stare in our direction. Connor chuckled and looked back at me. "Guess that's me cue ta go," he shrugged before he picked up his lemonade. "Enjoy the rest o'tha game, Father," he offered before turning to me. "Suppose we'll be seein' ya in church t'morrow morn?"

I heard Colin turn a chuckle into a cough, and I shot him a sideways glance to see him try to hide his smirk. "Well, it depends," I said as smoothly as I could. "Me brother-in-law has decided that I'll be cookin' dinner fer ya, yer brother, an' yer Ma t'morrow eve. It's either slave in the kitchen or in the pew." I winked as Connor's smile broadened.

Beside me, Colin shifted and grumbled something, and Connor laughed again. "Now, it's _really_ time I be off. Lemonade ta deliver. Can't keep tha ladies waitin', aye?" He nodded once more and then plodded past, and up into the bleachers. I turned, watching him pick his way through the crowd, and plunk down between two teenage girls – a brunette, and a redhead. The redhead was stretching her neck, glaring down at me, and I shifted uncomfortably beneath her scrutiny.

When the crowd suddenly burst into cheers, my attention was pulled back to the game, and I watched as Murphy smiled smugly, nodding as the kid at bat slunk off of the diamond, obviously struck out. He threw another few practice pitches while he waited for the second batter.

* * *

"It's Katie Hanigan, isn't it?" Dougie Burke asked during the seventh inning stretch.

Murphy looked up from the laces of his glove, his right arm stuffed into the sleeve of his hooded sweater so it would stay warm. "What's that?"

Dougie grinned and slid onto the bench, handing Murphy a paper cup of Gatorade. "Katie Hanigan," he shrugged. "I saw her up there in tha bleachers starin' daggers yer way. Christ on His cross, Murph, what d'ya do ta piss her off like that? Heard somethin' about Calhoun's pisser but…" he trailed off, looking hopefully at Murphy.

"But nothin'," Murphy dismissed shortly. "Yer head's up yer arse. Nothin' happened," he repeated.

Dougie peered at him closely. "Right, that's why she's lookin' like she wants ta murder ya an' you've been throwin' like shit. _Again_."

Murphy chugged back the Gatorade and crumpled the cup in his hand, and then tossed it aside. "Lay off, ya stupid cunt," he growled, pushing up from the bench. He stalked out of the dugout and off the diamond, scanning the crowd for Connor.

Katie Hanigan _had_ been the furthest thing from his mind, but his catcher was known for being a bit of a ball-bag at the best of times. He needed to clear that air, but it would have to wait until after the game. He really wanted to talk to Connor to see what he'd said to Márín. He'd spotted his twin standing there talking with Father McMahon and Márín, and more than once he saw Márín smile. He could only imagine what Connor took from that interaction. He hoped he hadn't caught on to anything – Connor had a knack with reading people even if they were doing their best to be silent.

"Bout 'ye," a familiar voice rang out. Connor's arm slung over his shoulder a second later. "Yer tossin' bricks out there, little brudder." He winked.

"Aye, aye, thanks, not like anyone else has been complainin'." He nodded towards the bleachers, which were mostly empty at this point, as spectators had moved off to get refreshments and stretch their legs. "What were ya talkin' ta Father McMahon about?"

Connor grinned broadly and bounced his eyebrows suggestively. "Father McMahon," he began dramatically, "introduced me ta his lovely sister-in-law, Márín. Márín _Guinness_." Connor's blue eyes sparkled with mischief. "Got somethin' ya want ta tell me?"

Murphy shifted under his brother's arm and glanced up the benches, spotting Márín's golden hair as she wandered along the concession stand, smiling politely to those that passed her. "Nothin' worth tellin'," Murphy sniffed.

"Bullshit," Connor laughed. "This have anythin' ta do wit' what happened wit' Katie last night? As far as I can tell, she's playin' dumb, claimin' she was drunk an' she doesn't remember very much. She's right embarrassed, I can tell ya that much." He dug into his pocket and produced his cigarettes, lighting one. "Somethin' tells me she's not goin' take any form of 'no' fer an answer, Murph. She's stricken wit' ya. She's hopin' ta talk to ya after tha game. Mentioned goin' inta town again after church t'morrow." He took a few drags from his cigarette at watched his brother closely. It was obvious Murphy was only half listening, and Connor looked in the direction his twin was staring. Spotting Márín, he whistled lowly. "Bit old fer ya, aye? I mean, if that's what ya like, then all the power to ya, Murph. Ya got a hand down yet or…"

"Shut yer gob, Connor," Murphy snapped, ducking out from under his arm. "S'not like that," he added, softer this time. He looked away from Márín and tugged his cap lower onto his head.

"Aye, well, she's wearin' yer cap. Don't think Katie hasn't noticed, either. So tell me what it _is_ like."

Murphy groaned. He was in a corner, and when he was backed in by Connor, there was very little chance of escape. "Not now," he growled. "I've got a game."

"That what yer callin' it? Looks more like a bloody massacre out there."

"We're not doing that bad."

"Not doin' that good, either," Connor pointed out. "Look, it's hot as hell out here, an' I'm fed up with listenin' ta Katie prattle on about why some strange woman is wearin' yer Red Sox cap. Pitch this next inning, get three out, and let's get the fuck outta here."

"Aye, right. Thanks for the pep talk," Murphy groused as he wandered back towards the dugout.

"Anytime!" Connor called after him, chuckling as he wound his way up the bleachers once more.

* * *

"Father McMahon!" Another cheerful voice greeted Colin and inwardly I groaned. This was one of the drawbacks to the local priest being my brother-in-law: _everybody_ knew him, and more often than not each and every one of them stopped to chat. I focused hard on the game, finding that staring solely at Murphy wasn't obvious when surrounded by one hundred other spectators who were essentially doing the same thing. Though, I felt as if the blue haired ladies and their elderly husbands weren't exactly entertaining the same thoughts. Beside me, Colin chattered excitedly, and it took a moment to realise that he had stopped, and I recalled hearing my name seconds before.

I blushed and turned to Colin, and then to the man standing before us. He was tall, close to six feet, with sandy blond hair and green eyes. His smile was broad and friendly, and he was watching me with an almost expectant expression. I quickly looked to Colin. "Sorry," I shrugged. "It's a good game."

"That it is," the new man piped up, drawing my glance again. He was still smiling. "Mike Flanery. I teach English Lit at the high school." He stuck his hand out.

"Hi Mike," I greeted pleasantly, shooting Colin a death glare.

For his part, he tried to hide his strangely triumphant smile, and then stood abruptly. "I'm goin' ta get somethin' ta drink. Anyone want anything?"

"I'm fine, thanks, Colin," Mike replied as he loosened my hand.

"Lemonade," I muttered. "But hurry back. Wouldn't want ya ta miss anythin'," I added smartly.

Colin ducked away and I turned back to Mike. "Would ya like to sit?" I couldn't be rude; he was obviously close to Colin, being on a first name basis. I slid over to make room.

"Thank ya," he smiled as he took my invitation. "Colin tells me ya were an English major in college."

I turned back to the game, finding Murphy prowling on the mound, his gaze directed at me. I could practically hear the gears in Mike's head turning; I could only guess as to what Colin had told him. There was no way in hell I was letting my brother-in-law set me up, no matter how much we seemed to have in common.

_A little more age appropriate,_ my inner voice sang.

"Aye, I was," I answered Mike's question with a brief nod.

"I'm surprised we haven't met before," Mike exclaimed as he leaned back.

"I've been…a little off the map, as of late," I answered wryly.

Mike nodded. "Aye, Colin told me. M'sorry fer yer loss."

Coming from him, it didn't really register. I'd been getting condolences from complete strangers ever since I cam to Wicklow, and though I knew their intentions were good, it did seem a little forced. I wondered if perhaps they were sorrier for the loss Colin suffered, the loss of his brother.

"Thank ya," I said softly.

We watched for a bit in silence before Mike spoke again. "The pitcher is actually in my senior lit class – Murphy MacManus."

Now, here was something that piqued my interest. I played indifferent, however, wondering what Mike Flanery might have to say. "Really? He's a very good ball player."

"And a very focused student. I'm tryin' ta get him ta consider goin' ta UDub in the fall for their English program." Mike sighed, shaking his head. "It isn't easy, what with their limited income."

His tone was almost pitying and I bristled for Murphy's sake. Something told me that Murphy wouldn't take too kindly to pity. "Well, he hasn't fared badly thus far. Perhaps he isn't interested in college just yet." I chanced a look at Mike.

He was caught somewhere between a smile and a frown, and he shook his head before glancing back onto the field. "I'm sorry – d'ya know him?"

I shrugged. "Colin has him doing some work around the yard on Saturdays."

"Ah, the Baby Jesus caper," Mike said fondly. "Surprising, really. I would have pinned that on Connor."

"Aye, that's what Colin said." We shared a bit of a laugh and then fell into lagging silence once more.

Colin returned a few moments later and handed off my lemonade. At that point, Mike stood and took Colin's hand again. "Nice ta see ya again, Colin. We should get t'gether soon, out on the links? I got a new set o'clubs fer Christmas that I'm itchin' ta try out."

Colin nodded. "Sounds like a plan, then. I've got a few more dates in Dublin this month, but maybe early June? We can talk after service t'morrow."

Mike smiled at Colin and turned to me once more. "Will we see you at Church, then?"

I smiled tightly and wondered if I did say yes and go, would people stop asking me? I gave a little shake of my head. "Sadly, no. Tomorrow, I'm busy cooking somebody's goose." I slid a dagger gaze into Colin.

Mike laughed easily. "Well, I hope to see you again, at any rate. It would be nice to talk with someone who likes literature as much as Colin says ya do." He nodded to both me and Colin, and then moved out of the bleachers.

"You could still come to service, you know," Colin muttered as we settled into our seats again.

I took a sip of lemonade and turned my attention back on the field. "Colin, I have the distinct feeling that yer settin' me up." I smirked at Colin's silent reply and reached over, snagging his bag of popcorn. "It's not going to work."

"Maybe you should give it a chance," he said.

"And maybe you should drop it." I turned to look at him closely. "Colin, I love you, and I'll never be able to thank you enough for all of the support and love you've shown me over these long months."

"You don't have to thank me, Márín," Colin interrupted with a shake of his head. "And I'm sorry if you think I'm 'settin' ya up'. That's not my intention. Believe me, I was a total dud when it came to girls when I was in high school; I wouldn't know the first thing about setting up a date fer ya." He chuckled and yanked his popcorn back. "I just want ya ta feel welcome…ta know that for whatever reason, if ya should decide to seek answers elsewhere, from another source, that door is always open. He shall always receive you." He gave me a good natured nudge. "Besides, the MacManus boy is the first person I've seen ya say more than one sentence to. I don't think yer as incapable of being friendly as ya like ta think. It would do ya good to get out among people yer own age."

Suddenly, the buttered stadium popcorn that had tasted so incredible turned to cardboard, and I fought to choke it down. My fingers felt numb as they grasped the cup of lemonade and I felt tears pricking my eyes as I looked back to Murphy. He had stepped back off of the mound and turned towards me. As I watched, he lifted his cap off and waved it once, wiping at the sweat on his brow. Then, he turned back to the game and with fierce determination and a long-limbed grace I didn't know he possessed, he easily struck the next three batters out.

He'd won the game, and I felt more lost than I had in a very long time.

* * *

Murphy didn't even get a chance to take a drink of water before Connor was crowding the dugout, Molly and Katie in tow. "Well head over to the confectionary, grab a Coke or somethin'," he shrugged when Murphy protested.

Murphy sighed and nodded, and hastily gathered his things before stuffing them into his bag. Making sure no one was watching, he chanced a sniff of his underarm, deemed himself presentable, and stepped out onto the diamond to join his brother. He tilted his head down so that the peak of his hat cut the sun from his eyes. "Hey, Katie," he began softly. "Look, about last night," he jumped in, seeing no sense in dragging things out.

"No, you know what?" Katie gave him a small, friendly smile. "That was so my fault, Murphy. I was terribly drunk an' I don't remember much but…I'm sorry fer jumpin' all over ya." Her cheeks reddened as she looked away. Her teeth tugged at her bottom lip and she wiped a strand of hair from her face. "Can we still be friends?"

"Ah…" Murphy looked up the field, frowning as he saw Márín turn to leave with Father McMahon. "I guess…" he trailed off, glancing down at the little redhead before him.

"I was thinkin'," Katie went on, "that since Connor an' Molly are goin' ta the Formal next Saturday that maybe you an' I could go? I mean, all four o'us."

"Sure, all four of us," Murphy said absently, glancing up to find Márín again. She'd disappeared, and he'd really wanted to ask her how she liked the game.

"Really? Oh, perfect, I've already got me dress, an' Molly an' I are gettin' our hair done that mornin', an' Molly's dad said we could take the convertible as long as Connor isn't drivin'…"

"Okay," Murphy nodded quickly, shouldering his bag, only hearing half of what she was saying. As the four of them turned to leave the field, he scanned the parking lot for Father McMahon's Volkswagen. It wasn't there, and so Murphy let himself be led to the corner store, feeling rather heavy with disappointment, even after such a spectacular game.


	6. Chapter 6

_A/N: Thanks to Valerie E Mackin who had first crack at this chapter and the two ways it could have gone. We both decided it should go both ways, so here it is. Thanks so much for all the feedback from everyone and reassuring me that drama and lukewarm chapters are needed to move the story along. And thanks for your patience. I'm trying to update weekly, sometimes I'm a day or two behind, but you don't badger, which makes me smile. Makes my baby smile, too, because right now he doesn't understand why mom spends so much time in front of the computer. Oh, and thanks to my husband, who won't ever read this, but listends to my daily rants about plot, characters, and the like._

_Felixferox, I wish you had an account so I could PM you! I'm wondering if you live in the same city as me as you mentioned Expo in April...I hope I can go, things are tight while I'm not working, and I hope I can at least get the $$ together to at least SEE Norman and Sean in the flesh. That would be good enough for me. I think if I met them, any preconcieved notions I have may be shattered. Though it would be fun!_

* * *

At nine the next morning I shoved Colin out the kitchen door. If he wanted me to cook dinner for five people, I reasoned, he needed to give me some space. I'd made sure to make him pancakes, to lighten his mood, and sent him packing with a fresh mug of coffee before quickly washing the dishes from breakfast. Next, I padded to the bathroom, scrubbed my face and teeth, and threw my hair up in a haphazard bun on top of my head. I didn't bother to change from the sloppy t-shirt and Adidas shorts I wore to sleep in, and instead opted to crank up some very un-Sunday music as I started in on the potatoes.

I had decided on roast beef with mashed potatoes, and took my time peeling, cutting, seasoning, stirring, whisking…going through the motions. I hadn't felt much like socializing after the game the day before, my mind heavy with Colin's words. I knew he didn't know – couldn't have known – what was going on between Murphy and I, but it hurt all the same. To be told that I was wrong, that I wasn't making the right decisions with my life was a blow to my ego. Once more, I was stuck wondering what those right choices were, and how I would know when they presented themselves. I knew that voicing my thoughts out loud would result in another attempt to get me to church that morning, and so I ate dinner silently, watched TV with half a mind, while I flipped through a few cookbooks. I even went to bed early and found that sleep was not hard to come by that night. For once, I wasn't plagued with fevered dreams of dark hair, sweet, rough kisses, and eager blue eyes.

But, I decided as I wrestled with trussing the roast and stuffing it with rosemary, I missed it. Missed _him_. I sighed. Christ, I was reverting back to my highschool self, all gooey and moon-eyed over the pitcher of the baseball team, and possibly the bad-boy (although secretly, I figured Connor held that distinguished title). I craved Murphy's closeness, his stillness, his quiet and unyielding company, and the times when passion overtook reason and manifested itself in the most delightful ways. I wanted him. I could at least say that now, to myself at any rate. I wanted him, and it was a wondrous feeling. I sighed again, loftily, and tilted my head as I looked out the window over the sink to the church. It was after ten; Murphy would be seated in there somewhere, maybe confessing his sins, maybe lost in thought. I stretched up on to my tiptoes with a yawn. I'd need coffee to keep the momentum I'd woken up with. All I wanted to do was curl up in bed and let my mind drift with forbidden thoughts, but I forced myself to the coffee maker and busied myself with making another huge pot.

* * *

"Cover fer me," Murphy muttered to Connor from the back wall of the church. He'd insisted on the distanced seats, letting Ma go and sit up ahead with one of her sisters who was down from Coíll Dubh for the morning.

"What the feck d'ya mean, 'cover fer me'?" Connor hissed, frowning as his brother suddenly stood from the pew and ducked down the row. "Murph!" Connor spat, glancing up to make sure they were neither seen nor heard.

Murphy merely waved a hand at his brother and ducked down the aisle towards the doors. He cut to one side and made a break for the side entrance, wincing slightly as the hinges protested. He slipped out into the bright morning and, when the door shut silently behind him, he let the breath he was holding slide out in a huff. He lit a cigarette and turned his attentions to Father McMahon's house. Once again, Márín had been absent from church, and he had a fairly good idea where he'd find her.

He had to see her again. After the previous morning, he hadn't stopped thinking about her, almost throwing an entire baseball game away because his eyes wandered to the bleachers. He'd managed to avoid telling Connor much more than what he'd said during the seventh inning stretch, as Molly had thankfully dragged the fairer MacManus twin with her down to Dixon's Creek to park. By the time Connor had gotten back, Murphy was sleeping. Breakfast had been a loud affair with Ma and Aunt Maggie barking at one another and the boys in between bites of fried ham and eggs and gallons of coffee. They'd made it to church just before service started, and he'd sat, almost writhing with impatience, as Father McMahon delivered his sermon. When they'd opened their hymn books and the organ started up, he'd seen his chance and snuck out. Cigarette clamped firmly between his teeth, he set out across the lawn, and marched right up the back steps to Father McMahon's kitchen door.

He could hear the pounding of loud music as he approached, and now, peering through the window of the door, he spotted Márín, once more appearing to be wearing one of those slouchy t-shirts, dancing around the kitchen. He soon recognized the music; the Pogues had only been on the scene for about a year, but they were quickly on the rise, and they happened to be one of his new favourite bands. He smiled as she sang along with the blasting chorus, her hands busy fiddling with a stack of coffee filters. Taking a cautious glance back over his shoulder, and deciding it was now or never, he raised a hand and rapped sharply on the door.

* * *

"Fuck!" The coffee filters I'd been fighting to separate flew up and fluttered about me like giant snowflakes as I whirled towards the door. My heart hammered against my ribs and it took me a moment to catch my breath and focus, and realize that Murphy was standing outside the kitchen door, smirking at how he had obviously startled me.

I growled, slamming the filters I'd managed to catch onto the counter, and crossed the floor. I wrenched open the door and took another deep breath, preparing to lay into him, but when he tilted his head and bit his lower lip, I faltered, and found myself hanging off of the door, showing off the bare skin of my shoulder.

"Mornin'," he grinned. He nodded into the kitchen. "Makin' coffee?"

"What are ya doin' here?" I asked, glancing over to the church. "Shouldn't you be…I don't know, confessing sins?"

Murphy gave me a smug look. "I'd have to commit some to confess some. You offerin'?"

I snorted at his forwardness. I'd brought it on myself, obviously. But as I had told myself that morning that I wanted him, and there was no sense in denying it, it didn't mean I could act on impulse. There was protocol. There were rules, and as I struggled to remember why it wasn't a good idea, I stepped aside and gestured towards the kitchen. "How about coffee instead?"

Murphy shrugged. "Rather get me blood pumpin' another way, but ya do make a good cuppa. Thanks." He stepped in and toed off his dress shoes as he surveyed the rest of the kitchen. "What else are ya up to?"

"Getting dinner ready." I moved into the other room and turned the music down to a dull roar.

He made a face as I wandered back into the kitchen. "It's barely past eleven," he pointed out.

"Well, I don't reckon I'll enjoy slavin' over tha stove late in tha afternoon. Besides, I have ta have time ta make myself presentable." I winked and turned to the cupboards.

"You could be wearin' a potato sack an' ya'd be presentable," Murphy replied.

I rolled my eyes to myself and stretched up on my toes, reaching into the top cupboard to grab at the mugs. I cursed Colin as I felt around blindly – the man was at least half a foot taller than me and found it necessary to push all of the dishes to the back of the cupboards. I sighed, frustrated.

"Need a hand?" Murphy crossed the kitchen before I could even turn around and suddenly he was behind me, one hand on the counter next to mine, the other reaching up and brushing my fingers as he reached into the cupboard.

He threw heat like a furnace and I found myself leaning into him. He paused as he felt my body press back against his and his breath ghosted along my bare shoulder and neck, followed by the barely there caress of his fingertips. He toyed with the edge of my shirt for a moment. "Got a thing against proper fittin' attire?" he murmured.

The timbre in his voice left little doubt as to where his thoughts were turning and I cleared my throat even as I shivered. "I slept in it," I answered dumbly, casting a glance behind me and finding his face inches from mine.

The hand he had braced on the counter moved back and with a slow and cautious move, it curved over my hip, testing my boundaries and finding that I didn't really enforce them. His fingers clamped a little tighter and his chin moved past my shoulder. I watched his gaze dip lower and he peeked under the gaping neckline of my t-shirt.

"That so," he muttered distractedly.

The fingers on my hip slowly crept up, dragging my T shirt with them, and then, when there was nothing between my skin and his hand, he touched me again, brushing his fingertips against my lower belly to slide over my hip once more. He took a shaky breath and let out a tiny groan that rocked me straight to the core. His hips jutted forward against me.

"Murphy," I warned thickly, twisting in his grasp. Still, my eyes closed and I let my head fall back against his shoulder.

"Mmmm," he hummed in reply, and the fingers at my neck crept down over the front of my shirt, taking hold of my breast.

My breath caught in my throat as his thumb began to circle and then pull at my nipple, the fingers on my naked hips and belly tracing deeper curves, sliding lower, dipping just beneath the waistband of my shorts. As I grew hotter, he grew harder, the evidence pressed against my ass. "I…thought you said…ya weren't gonna kiss me this time," I breathed.

He chuckled and shook his head, and his dark hair brushed against my neck. "M'not kissin' ya," he whispered. "Kissin' involves lips," he continued hotly. "An' I'm just usin' me hands." He swallowed thickly and turned his hands again, tugging at my nipple sharply and slipping over the front of my shorts.

He cupped the thin cotton between my thighs, and used the heel of his hand to press it against the swollen, sensitive flesh there. A sharp cry sprung from my throat as I arched back, pushing my breast into his hand, my ass into his thickening cock, and I looped an arm back and around his neck, pulling him closer. Up on my tiptoes, I keened, wanting him closer – needing him to touch more of me, all of me, all at once.

"Fuck, yer hot," he breathed, his thumb rolling softly at the very apex of my thighs. He wasn't touching me, not directly, but he created friction that was dangerously close to igniting.

"Jesus, Murphy," I groaned, blinking into the morning light as it spilled through the window. Where the hell had he learned to touch a woman like this? It couldn't be beginner's luck and I felt a seed of jealousy planted in my guts. I clamped my thighs shut suddenly, shaking my head against the hot bolts of pleasure ripping up and down my body. My fingers curled harshly into his hair, and he hissed as I pulled and dug my nails into his scalp.

He heaved a groan and snaked his hand around to my back, pushing me up against the sink. From there, his hand slid up, leaving me bereft and aching between my thighs. Both hands snaked under my shirt, cupped my breasts, and he strummed my nipples with his thumbs. I felt his teeth clamp down roughly on my earlobe and he grunted, bucking his hips into me once more.

"Murphy," I panted, my head going in circles. I pulled at his hair, trying to dislodge him, and at the same time, my free hand caught his waist and pulled him against me. "Stop, " I begged."

"Not yet," he murmured, licking the shell of my ear as he tugged and tweaked the hard peaks of my breasts.

A slow, white heat began to burn in my belly as his fingers pulled and twisted my oversensitive flesh. The hard, heavy feeling of him pressed so firmly between my ass cheeks had liquid fire pooling between my legs. He rutted harder against me, his fingers closing down on my nipples to the point of pain, and then, suddenly, a shockwave ran through my marrow, followed by another, and another. I came swiftly and unexpectedly with a stuttering cry, and he answered with a groan and his teeth in my shoulder.

The kitchen was then silent, save for my heavy panting and Murphy murmuring in my ear. His touch turned incredibly gentle, almost as if he were afraid of suddenly breaking me, and he swirled his fingertips along the delicate flesh on the underside of my breasts, then down, letting my shirt fall back into place. With another shuddering sigh, his head came to rest against the back of mine and he held my hips steady.

I felt his breath stirring my hair, and with as much energy as I could muster, I turned in his embrace, wrapping my arms around his shoulders. I clung to him, catching my breath, my ear pressed against his chest as his heart hammered behind his ribs. "Shit," I murmured.

I heard his chuckle a second later, felt it vibrate in his chest. "You all right?"

I pulled back to look up at him, shaking my head slowly. "No. Shit, Murphy, I…" I tripped over my words as I searched his flushed face, his eyes bright with excitement. Groaning at my shattered resolve and the look of unchecked lust on his face, I slid my hands to his jaw, holding him steady as I rose on my tip toes. "I'm gonna go straight ta hell fer this," I lamented before pulling his mouth onto mine.

* * *

To say he was surprised at how Márín fell apart in his arms was an understatement. He was awestruck, fascinated, and now even more determined to do it again…and again, and again, and again. He didn't know how he'd done it, really. The moment he'd touched her skin, he'd felt the aching need crawling from her body to his, and he'd done the first thing that came to mind. He actually couldn't believe she'd let it go so far; he half expected her to pull away or to brush him off like she had before. The desperation in her hands as they tore at his hair, and the keening sighs that rose with every one of her breaths only served to spur him on. And her kiss – Jayzus, Mary, n'Joseph, her kiss burned him up, a perfect slide of lips and tongue that left him breathless as she pulled back.

Staring up at him, her fingers crept from his jaw down his throat, landed on the knot of his tie. With a practice tug, she slipped the knot effortlessly and pulled the length of fabric from his neck before dropping it to the floor. Then, she worked on the buttons of his shirt, her eyes never wavering from his, and when she had the first three slipped open, she snaked one hand back up to his hair, mussing the thick strands, while her other hand slid to his belt and pulled him impossibly closer. He stumbled against her with a grunt and gave her a cocky smirk.

"Ya gonna have yer way with me?" he breathed hoarsely, hope mixing with a slight tingle of apprehension.

"Shut up," she mumbled, returning his smirk before leaning up and pressing her lips to the hollow of his throat.

He hissed at the contact, and when her teeth scraped over one point of his collarbone, he heard himself whimper and blushed embarrassedly at the whiny desperation it held. She either didn't notice, or didn't care, and her lips slid lower as she pulled the collar of his shirt one way and then the other, trying to get at more of his skin. As she wrestled with the pale blue cotton, her fingers wound into it and suddenly he felt her tug the rosary that was slung around his neck.

"Wait," he whispered, catching her fingers gently before sliding her hands down to his chest. He reached and pulled the strand of smooth wooden beads up and began to slip them up and over his head.

* * *

I froze when I heard him tell me to wait, wondering if I'd somehow crossed a line with him, but he merely reached into the collar of his shirt and began to pull at a long strand of wooden beads that was looped over his neck. As he pulled the necklace free, I saw that it wasn't a necklace at all, but a rosary, and the Celtic cross hanging on the very end dangled and twirled in front of my face.

And then, I heard the church bells ringing, signalling the end of service. The clang and clamour of them was so rattling that I jumped, and suddenly, whatever fantasy world Murphy and I had stepped into was shattered, at least for me, as the peal of bells and his rosary hung in the air, a rude awakening. I felt like I had been shaken roughly, as if someone was rousing me from a dream, and I blinked and snatched my hands away from the warmth of his body.

"Shit," he muttered, his dark head flicking up and glancing out the kitchen window. His brow furrowed and he looked back to me with wide eyes.

"Oh my god," I gasped, shoving him away as I took as step back. "You have to go." I grabbed his tie from the counter and shoved it at him.

He nodded, already working on his buttons and then sliding the length of his tie under his collar. He fiddled with the ends for a moment before shooting me a pleading look. "Can ya…" he shrugged.

I was momentarily horrified when I realized that his _mother_ had most likely tied it for him that morning. A heavy, sick weight settled in my guts. "Aye, aye," I replied, beckoning him closer. I tied a half Windsor in less than a minute and when I'd finished, I couldn't keep my hands from smoothing down the front of his shirt on either side of the tie. My fingers caught on his belt once more and I looked up at him. "Go," I whispered.

He nodded, but made no attempt to move.

"Murphy," I growled in warning.

His tongue slid out over his lips and he leaned down, angling his head once more. He kissed me, and I kissed him back, falling into the storm we seemed to create every time we touched. My mind whirled, and still the church bells rang, and it seemed to be almost a warning, one that we were doing a good job of ignoring.

* * *

He knew he need to go, but watching the speed and efficiency she used to tie his tie had made him that much more aware of himself and his need to assert his independence. Ignoring her plea for him to go, he kissed her again, and felt her resistance slip. She tasted so good; felt better than anything he'd encountered before. He was positively throbbing beneath his fly, and his hips moved of their own volition, rolling up against Márín with a sensual promise. His lips broke from hers wetly, and he panted, squeezing his eyes shut.

"Murph, stop," she whispered, tugging at his hair to get his attention. "Ya gotta go now, aye?"

His eyes opened slowly as he nodded, and his forehead came down against hers as he stared down into the gold and green starburst that was her gaze. "Aye," he rasped hoarsely, even as his hips continued to wind and grind into the welcoming warmth between her legs.

Once more, her hand fisted in his hair and gave him a swift tug as her other hand pushed against his hip. "_Now_," she growled. "B'fore yer missed."

He took a deep breath, and then another, and when he felt he would be able to move without blowing his load in his pants, he took a small step back, and then another, until there was a respectable distance between them. He touched the corner of his mouth with the tip of his tongue and rubbed at his bottom lip with his forefinger as he jammed his feet into his shoes.

"I'll see ya t'night?" he asked as his hand landed on the doorknob behind him. Every movement he made that put distance between him and the woman before him was agonizing, and his limbs felt like molten lead as he moved. His balls twinged painfully as he took in Márín's flushed cheeks and the red marks on the juncture of her neck and shoulder where he'd bit her as she came.

* * *

I stared at him like he'd grown another head. Tonight? What was happening… I suddenly became aware of our surroundings again: the half-trussed roast on top of the stove, a sink full of potatoes waiting to be peeled, and an open cookbook. Quickly, I looked back to Murphy.

He watched me with a bemused expression. "Y'all right?"

I nodded. "Aye. T'night, aye, we'll see ya then."

He gave me a short nod and a small smile, and then opened the back door. He stepped out, the door shutting behind him, and reality crashed down around me. How was I supposed to look Colin in the eye when he returned from the church? How was I supposed to look Murphy's _mother_ in the eye as she sat eating the potatoes that had waited in the sink while her son brought me to a mind-melting orgasm? My stomach turned violently and I groaned, bending over the counter and laying my forehead against the cool granite.

What the hell had just happened? _How_ had it happened? It was like Murphy had a mainline to every sordid thought I'd ever entertained, about him or otherwise. The cold stone against my flushed face did nothing to help; every time I closed my eyes the sound of his voice rasping hotly at my ear made my thighs tingle. He'd made me come in no time at all, without even trying, and I loved it. Wanted more of it. And no matter how much I flipped back and forth, ran hot and cold, I had already come to the conclusion that Murphy was patient, and he was persistent. He would wait for me, and I was in agony with the thought that it wasn't going to take much more for me to relent completely.

* * *

"Tha fuck did ya go?" Connor snarked as Murphy skirted around the back of the church and leaned up against the wall next to him.

Murphy shrugged and took the cigarette that Connor held out to him. "Got bored," he began before taking a long drag. He tilted his head back against the stone façade of the church and closed his eyes, blowing out a stream of smoke.

"Find anythin' interestin' then?"

"Aye, I did,' Murphy replied, handing Connor's cigarette back.

Connor took in Murphy's lax appearance for a moment. His brother's dark hair was decidedly mussed, and the tie that Ma had wound into a full Windsor now hung haphazardly around Murphy's neck, half the knot lost. "Who were ya makin' out wit'?"

Murphy stiffened and turned a steely blue glare on his brother. "Whaterya on about?"

Connor shook his head and gave Murphy an incredulous look. "Yer mouth is swollen. I know it wasn't Katie, she spent the whole service wigglin' in her pew tryin' ta find ya." Connor's gaze turned mischievous as he leaned forward. "Shit, Murph, are ya runnin' around wit' Father McMahon's sister-in-law?"

He couldn't lie; Connor would see right through it. And he couldn't hide the sudden reddening of his cheekbones and ears as he tried to dodge his brother's pensive stare. "Don't call it that. I told ya, s'not like that."

Connor's smile faded as he heard the throaty pull of Murphy's voice that signalled his twin's deep set emotions. While Connor wore his heart on his sleeve and fought like a lion, Murphy was guarded, something that Ma said he'd inherited from his Da. Standing in the church yard that morning, however, Connor had a feeling that whatever Murphy was feeling, he was feeling it hard, and it was affecting him deeply.

"An' I asked ya ta tell me what it was like," Connor shrugged. He watched Murphy squirm a bit more and Connor sighed before looking up and scanning the mingling crowd of church goers. "All right, we need ta get out o'here, aye? B'fore Katie an' Molly find us and drag us Lord knows where. Ya got cigarettes? M'almost out."

"Aye, I've got ya covered."

Connor nodded and hooked his hand around Murphy's elbow. "Right. Then we're off. Go down ta Forester's Bog fer a bit, pitch some stones like when we was little, aye?"

Murphy afforded Connor half a smile. Forester's Bog was their getaway, their secret spot where they'd stolen to when they wanted time to themselves, as brothers, as twins. "Think we can find some whiskey?"

Connor chuckled and nodded, pulling Murphy into a headlock. "I have some stashed under me bed. C'mon, b'fore Ma sees us an' decides we need ta do chores or somethin'."

* * *

"Are ya serious?" Murphy exclaimed, turning on the large boulder he was balanced on to stare at Connor.

Connor shrugged. "Aye. Didn't know what ta think at first, right? Thought, fuck me, she pissed on me!" He cackled with laughter and arced a stone high in the air.

Both brothers paused to watch it fall and land with a thick _plop_ on the top layer of peat. Murphy cocked a war eyebrow at his brother. "An' this happens a lot?"

"Guess so. That's what Molly said. Told me her big sister – the down at Cambridge? Anyway, _she_ told Molly all about it." Connor paused in thought. "Called it 'squirtin'," he summed up.

"Fuck me, just when I think I got the clit figured out," Murphy lamented.

"Aye," Connor nodded gravely. "Though I'm certain ya know a lass or two that know what it's about? Suppose ya can ask 'em?"

Murphy knew what Connor was referring to and he dropped his handful of stones to one side, wrinkling his nose at the wet _slap_ as they landed. He rubbed his palms together and glanced down at his bare toes as they gripped the rock. Both he and Connor had discarded their ties, shoes, and socks on the bank, Connor had even stripped off his dress shirt, the sun was so warm. "Fuck _you_, m'not fuckin' askin' her that."

Connor sniffed. "Why tha fuck not?"

"Because…it's…I mean she…we…haven't…" he groaned, knowing he'd been cornered into a full confession. He idly thought that Connor would make an excellent priest if he didn't enjoy chasing skirt so much. "All right," Murphy grumbled, hopping from the rock he was on to the next, and then the next, until he was on solid ground again.

Connor followed him and crouched on the stone closest to the banks and lit a cigarette. Murphy stretched out on his back along the bank and lit one, too. He gently closed his eyes. "I kissed 'er," he announced. "Twice, actually," he added before taking a drag from his cigarette.

"An'?" Connor prompted.

"An…I'm ninety-nine percent sure I made her…ya know…_come_."

A low whistle sounded from Connor's direction and he sucked on his cigarette for a spell, contemplating his brother's admission. "Jesus, Mary, n'Joseph, Murph…for real? Yer not takin' tha piss?"

Murphy chuckled, his shoulders shaking on the bank, and shook his head at the sky. "Nope." He sat up suddenly and looked closely at his twin. "Fuck, Connor, it was…" he trailed off with a small grunt. "It was fuckin' hot, aye? She feels fuckin' amazin' when she's touchin' me, an' I'm kissin' her…"

"An's she's completely sober? Of sound mind?" Connor grinned broadly as Murphy rolled his eyes.

"Aye, aye, laugh about it, ya fuckin' arse. She kissed _me_ this mornin'."

"Fuck me, ya got ta tell me yer secret, Murph."

"It's because I'm tha oldest," Murphy shrugged. Connor's face twisted and Murphy roared with laughter as his brother sputtered like a wet cat.

"Fuckin' head's up yer arse, dipshit," Connor snapped, grinding his cigarette out on the rock and pocketing it. Jumping from his rock, he landed next to Murphy and nudged him with his foot. "So, what are ya gonna do?"

Murphy sighed disgustedly and threw his hands up helplessly. "Fucked if I know. She's hung up about tha age thing, an' rightfully so."

"Fuck, she can't be that much older."

"Well, she wont' tell me her age."

"But ya said she kissed ya?"

"Aye," Murphy nodded.

"An'…she was wearin' your cap at yer game," Connor added.

"Well, ta be fair, I do have her favourite book."

Connor paused. "Ah, so ya _were_ usin' it ta get up a skirt."

"Whatever," Murphy waved Connor's exclamation aside. "Point is that I _know_ she wants this as much as I do…"

"Wait, she told ya that?"

"Well…_no_, not exactly. But she kissed _me_, Conn. An' she let me touch her…an' fuck, Conn, she's scared o'somethin'…she was married, aye? Not anymore, obviously, but she was, once. Doesn't talk about it. I think it has somethin' ta do with that."

"What has somethin' ta do with what?"

Murphy turned his gaze out onto the bog, watching the heat rise as the sun beat down. "Somethin' about her marriage as her scared shitless to let anyone else in."

Connor cupped his chin in his hand and watched as Murphy spoke. It was a curse, really, for his twin to have such an old soul. So much like yer Da, Ma would say. Old soul, and fierce. The name 'Murphy', after all, meant sea-warrior, and on days like this, days where Murphy spoke and reasoned well beyond his years, Connor could almost see it, that warrior from ancient times, rife with bruises from battle and years of hard living.

Murphy reached out and tugged the small flask of whiskey Connor had tucked into his shoe. He downed a healthy mouthful, swallowed, and promptly belched. All of Connor's previous musings about 'old soul' flew right out the window, and he grinned at the twin he knew and loved, the young Murphy that, though quiet, could be just as raucous as Connor if given the time and tools.

"Have y'asked her, then? What's botherin' her?"

Murphy chuckled ruefully and handed the flask to Connor and then dusted off the bottom of his feet. "It's like tha world is workin' fer us one minute an' against us tha next. Haven't been able to _really_ talk ta her beyond rosebushes and roast beef." He flicked his dark hair from his eyes and pulled on his socks. "I just need ta get 'er alone fer more than ten minutes…an' without the threat of Father McMahon."

Connor cocked an eyebrow and wrestled with his shirtsleeves for a moment. "Maybe it's God's way of tellin' ya yer not meant ta be."

Murphy sighed at Connor's comment. He hadn't really entertained the thought of God being the one to intervene, at least not until the church bells rang that morning. Trust Connor to come up with that – while both brothers were undeniably faithful to their religion, Murphy knew that Connor's faith ran just that much deeper than his.

Connor was talking again. "But maybe not. Look, it's obvious He put ya on this path fer a reason. Stay true to it, Murph, and you'll find yer way. Follow yer heart, but listen ta tha Lord, aye? He's not one ta lead his flock astray."

* * *

Annabelle MacManus was a hard woman. Christ, she'd have to be to raise her twins in Wicklow, her husband gone without notice. She'd been polite, even if she seemed short on words, but I garnered it was because she was in Colin's home – her priest's home. Colin had warned me earlier that day that Annabelle was devout in three things: her boys, her religion, and her whiskey. It took a second helping of roast beef, but eventually she warmed, and spoke candidly about anything, and _everything_.

"M'boys aren't goin' ta waste their lives drivin' sheep or tractors," she announced as she scraped her plate of potatoes. Her head suddenly came up and she peered at me with dark eyes. "These are good, I'll give ya that, lass. What's yer secret?"

_Oh, a little salt, some pepper, a drop of cream cheese, an' yer boy Murphy workin' me over while they soak in the sink._ I smiled tightly. "Cream cheese," I answered.

Annabelle nodded and went back to her first comment. "An' they won't be priests, either, no offense to ya, Colin." She winked at my brother in law and then turned fond, sparkling eyes on the twins in question. "They'll be so much more."

Connor snorted and rolled his eyes. "Aye, Ma, aye, Murphy's gonna go off ta college an' teach books an' I'll end up workin' behind a bar."

Annabelle growled and landed a sound _smack_ across the back of Connor's head. "Nothin' wrong wit' workin' in a bar, Connor." She looked between the boys once more. "An' nothin' can separate ya. Wherever one ends up, the other will be there, I know it."

And at this, both Connor and Murphy nodded and said a quick 'Hail Mary'.

"So, what's yer story, lass?" Annabelle set her fork down, waving away Colin's offer of more creamed peas. She leaned her elbows on the table and watched me closely.

"Ah…" I paused, unsure of how to start.

"Murphy says ya were married," Connor piped up.

I quickly looked to the fair twin with wide eyes. He merely shrugged and motioned to the wedding band on my finger. "What happened there?"

At the head of the table, Colin cleared his throat. "Connor, I don't…"

"It's okay," I cut him off, casting a quick glance at Murphy. The darker twin seemed to be watching me almost hopefully, as if I might reveal some great secret. He knew I'd been married. I looked back to Connor. "Aye, I was married. Joe was Colin's younger brother. He…died, very suddenly, last Christmas. I moved here." I shrugged and dug into my peas once more.

I could feel Annabelle's eyes still on me and I dared a glance in her direction. Her mouth was set, firm, but understanding. "Aye," she said at last, in a much gentler voice. "Aye, I know a thing or two about that."

I blinked. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize that yer husband had passed." I looked to Colin briefly. "I thought he had left."

Annabelle laughed and shook her head. "Aye, that he did, an' wit' these two ta raise. No matter; haven't heard from him since that day." She paused and sniffed haughtily. "Might as well be dead. So, yes, Márín, I know a thing or two about losin' a husband."

I nodded with her.

After a stretch of silence, Colin finally spoke. "Connor, I hear that yer takin' Molly Macklemore to tha formal?"

Connor swallowed a mouthful and nodded. "Aye, I am. Actually, Murphy's goin' wit' Katie Hanigan. We're all goin' as a group…"

"_Pah_, Katie Hanigan," Annabelle interjected. She pointed a finger at Murphy. "Ya know I don't like tha girl. She's far too interested in ya, Murph. I know these things. Her sow of a mother won't shut up about Katie and Murphy this, an' Katie an' Murphy that. It's like yer married, or somethin'." Annabelle paused and made a face. "Christ,"

"Lord's name," Connor and Murphy piped up.

Annabelle sighed and rolled her eyes before making a quick sign of the cross. Then she turned back to Murphy. "Yer _not_ thinkin' of gettin' married, are ya? I didn't even think ya liked tha…oh, Jayzus, Mary, n'Joseph, she's not pregnant, is she?"

"_Ma_," Murphy growled from beside me. His fists clenched around his knife and fork.

"Well, I have ta ask, what wit' yer brother runnin' round like tha town bicycle…"

I furrowed my brow. "Excuse me?"

Annabelle snorted and elbowed her fair son. "Everyone gets a ride."

Connor sputtered and blushed wonderfully and beside me, Murphy chuckled at his expense.

Colin watched the proceedings, not entirely sure if he should jump in and say something, or just slink away and pretend like nothing was going on. "Ah…are we all finished?" he finally said as he stood and gestured to the plates.

Annabelle was the first to nod in agreement, tossing her napkin into the centre of the plate. "Aye, can't fit much more in me. Gotta leave room fer whiskey." She winked and reached for her purse, fishing out her cigarettes. "If you'll all excuse me," she began before standing. "I need a cigarette after a meal like dat." She winked in my direction.

"I'm wit' ya," Connor decided as he stood as well. His eyes landed on Murphy for a second and then he looked to Colin. "Whaddya say ya take me Ma an' I out fer a tour of tha work Murphy's been doin'?"

Annabelle smiled. "Aye, show me he's been workin' hard, father, hate ta think he's gettin' away with slackin' off when I sent him here."

"Of course," Colin smiled, gesturing to the kitchen. "We'll go out the back – Márín, would you like to join?"

"I've seen it first hand," I declined, piling the plates together. "An' I've got ta get Mrs. MacManus' pie inta the oven."

Annabelle moved past Murphy and flicked his ear. "Help wit' tha dishes, Murphy Michael. Lord knows yav done somethin' t'day yer to atone fer."

Murphy and I looked at each other, and then quickly looked away, and began awkwardly clearing the table.

As Murphy hauled the dishes in from the dining room, I rinsed them and began filling the sink to wash, setting out clean towels and the drying rack on the other side of the double sink. Before I could slide my hands into the rubber gloves, Murphy gently shouldered me aside. "I'll wash," he said, rolling up his shirt sleeves. "You dry. Ya know where everythin' goes, anyway." He looked down at me and gave me a small smile. "I'll help ya with tha things that are too high ta reach."

I gave him a wan smile and a sturdy _thwack_ with the dish towel.

He chuckled and raised a placating hand, flinching away. "All right, all right, don't get yer knickers in a twist, aye?" He snorted and reached for the glasses, dunking them into the sink.

We worked in silence, and we worked rather efficiently, and the only sounds for a few minutes was the squeak and swish of Murphy scrubbing dishes and the gentle clink as I piled the clean plates into the their cupboards and set the glasses aside to replace in the cabinet in the dining room.

At some point, we had gravitated towards one another and now we stood as close as two people doing the dishes could get. My eyes focused on his hands as he worked, and every so often, when I did dare to look up, I found his eyes watching me, that ghost of a smile crooked on his face, before he would turn back to his task. He plunged the clean saucepan into the rinse sink just as I stuck my hand in to retrieve another dish, and our fingers brushed against each other, twisting in the tepid water until finally Murphy locked our fingers together and pulled them out of the sink. He glanced down at our joined hands for a moment, and brushed his thumb over the swell of palm, sliding it back and forth over my wet skin. His thumb moved lower, and began scraping against the thin skin on my wrist and I felt my blood begin to heat.

I became aware of his body turning, and mine turned towards him and he took two steps forward until our hips brushed together, our wet hands still clinging. When I looked up, I saw the determination in his eyes and he shot a quick glance out the window before he swept down and angled his head towards me.

I shook myself and deftly slid out from where he'd more or less pinned me to the counter. The air around me cooled considerably and I cleared my throat. "Are ya crazy? Yer mother is right outside?"

"They're round back o'tha church," Murphy murmured, his eyes staring at my mouth.

"Did ya plan this? Did ya enlist Connor ta help get me alone?" I pulled my hand free of his and picked up a towel, twisting it with my hands.

Murphy narrowed his eyes and his brow furrowed. "Hardly. But I'm not one ta waste an opportunity. Can we talk?" He pulled the towel from my hands and set it to one side.

I looked away, and rubbed my hands together. "There's nothin' ta talk about." I stepped back when he made a move to come closer to me.

I heard him move and then once again he was next to me, this time leaning up against the sink on his hip. His arms were folded over his chest and he watched me closely for a second. "Do I make ya uncomfortable, lass?"

I balked at his use of 'lass' and snorted my reply before shaking my head. "Hardly," I muttered, still focused on my task.

"Maybe that wasn't the right word. Do I make ya nervous?" he tried again.

I shook my head once more.

He wasn't buying my answer and I couldn't really fault him. I couldn't even voice my answer, and I was looking everywhere but him. Once more, I had the feeling that if I met his steady gaze, he'd be able to see right through me.

"Márín."

My eyes slipped shut at how softly he said my name and I felt the all too familiar ache in my throat. He was treading on thin ice; he couldn't have known. From the corner of my eye I saw him move a little closer, and he reached out to touch me. I stiffened.

"Christ, lass, yer tremblin'," he mumbled. He wisely took half a step back. The hand he had extended slipped to the back of his head where he ruffled his hair for a moment. "Ya know," he began with a forced chuckle, "I thought _I_ was the one who was supposed ta be nervous. Bein' a virgin an' all."

My cheeks flamed at his admittance and all at once, every fantasy I'd had of him, from the moment I laid eyes on him, came flooding back. Suddenly, the kitchen felt entirely too small, my skin too tight. "Murphy, stop," I whispered hotly, staring down at the bottom of the sink.

If there was one thing I learned from this entire experience, was that MacManus men were stubborn, and Murphy was the worst. He kept talking, the smooth rumble of his voice doing nothing to discourage the raging conflict of emotions in my heart.

"I can't," he replied. "An' I don't want ta," he continued, clutching at the edge of the counter with both hands and staring out the window.

"You have to," I hurriedly replied, pushing away from the sink.

He moved fast and caught my wrist, spinning me back around before I could get away. "Is it _because_ I'm a virgin?" He forced an amused smile, trying to make light of the situation. "Afraid you'll be takin' advantage?"

I blinked, confused by his words. After his demanding kisses and the sure, scorching heat of his touch, I had no doubts that, virgin or not, Murphy would not disappoint and would hardly let himself be taken advantage of. "No," I croaked.

He seemed to settle further into his stance and his face grew smug. "Then, what is it?" he whispered mockingly.

"You're too young…" I started lamely, feeling like a coward for using that same argument.

He scoffed. "Are we back ta that? I told ya I'll be eighteen in a few weeks."

"Then I'm too old," I snapped.

He blinked owlishly and managed to look slightly taken aback. "Is that what ya really think?" He shook head. "How old are ya?"

I looked down at my hands. "Thirty two."

And _there_ was that deafening silence I was dreading. I hadn't known I was dreading it until it came, and here it was. Christ, I could practically hear the crickets chirping in the pre-dawn and I felt my cheeks burn as my stomach clenched. I didn't dare look up, for fear he'd be looking at me like I was some over-sexed broad, or he'd be clearly embarrassed. It wasn't _guilt_ that dogged me – it was my own stupid pride. I felt used up already, having wasted – yes, _wasted_ – five years married to a man whom I wasn't in love with. Wasted five years not having mind-blowing, explosive sex, wasted five years on a man who shared few interests with me, other than smoking weed and hanging out at the pub. Wasted five years being married to a _friend_ instead of a lover. But that was all Murphy could be. The irony was sickening.

"Why are ya cryin'?" he asked very softly.

I stiffened and blinked up at him, suddenly aware of the tears slipping down my cheeks. "Oh, God," I muttered, rubbing at my eyes furiously. I saw him take a step towards me and I threw my hands up defensively. "No, Christ, Murphy, don't," I warned, retreating.

He stopped short and his jaw tensed. "Jesus, Márín, what are ya afraid of?" he suddenly barked.

I don't remember saying it, not the first time, but I must have said _something_ because the air grew desperately still. His voice was soft as he asked me to repeat myself. Steeling myself with a deep breath, I raised my head and looked him in the eye. "I want ya," I admitted, "I want ya so bad, an' it terrifies me."


	7. Chapter 7

_A/N: Would any of you still read this if it wasn't Murphy / BDS related?_

* * *

For once, he didn't have a snappy retort ready to combat Márín's deflection because this wasn't deflection at all. It was a bomb, and he had a feeling she'd hurled it in an effort to sabotage any further advances from him. Hell, she didn't even wait for the smoke to clear, merely left him there in the kitchen, staring at the stack of clean plates and Ma's pie. He carefully sifted through the debris of their conversation.

He just couldn't understand why she said she was terrified. It wasn't something he associated with the maelstrom of feelings twisting him around. Maybe apprehension. _Maybe_ a mite scared. But terrified? What was it about him that was so damn terrifying? He shuffled across the linoleum and craned his neck down the hall, looking at the closed door at the end of it. He knew Márín was there; he'd heard the door slam seconds after her confession. He stared at the door, trying to decide if he should go to her, or if that would just make things worse. As his foot moved forward and crossed to the taupe carpet of the hallway, he heard the creak of a door and quickly changed directions, and stalked back across the kitchen, going for his shoes even as Ma and Connor and Father McMahon bustled inside.

"Murph?" Connor asked as he watched his twin yank his sneakers on and reach for his jacket. "What…"

Murphy glanced back to where Father McMahon had wandered into the kitchen and stopped to survey half the dishes done and the pie still cold on the counter. "Said she wasn't feelin' well," Murphy lied with half a shrug. "Went ta lie down. Figure it's best if we call it a night, aye?" He didn't even wait for an answer, merely stalked outside and down the stairs, lighting a cigarette on the way.

He was halfway to the road when he heard Connor's shoes scuffing along the gravel, jogging to catch him up. "Oi, Murph, wait a tick, yeah?" Connor growled as he snagged Murphy's sleeve.

Murphy shrugged him off with a grunt and stormed the last few paces up to the road where he kicked the post of the fence that ran around the curb.

"'Bout ye?" Connor growled, tugging his brother's shoulders and forcing him to stand still. "What tha fuck?"

"Nothin'," Murphy snapped, flicking the fagg end of his cigarette aside. His jaw tightened, trying to force down the swell of emotions he felt raging in his blood. He nodded towards the house. "Ma?"

Connor peered closely at Murphy. "Father McMahon's drivin' her ta th'Anvil."

Murphy grunted in response and toed the gravel with his sneaker. "Aye," he nodded. "V'got readin' ta catch up fer Flanery's class t'morrow."

Connor lifted an eyebrow at Murphy's poor excuse, but said nothing and merely nodded up the road in the direction of their house.

Walt Whiteman lay untouched that night. Murphy had read it religiously every night since he'd borrowed it, but now, the pages felt rough and ugly in his hands, and the words didn't seem to make sense. He scowled at it for a spell, perched on the edge of his bed. He heard Connor come to bed a while later, but he didn't move save to turn his lamp off and throw the room into black shadows and silver patches of moonlight. The bomb Márín had thrown did more than just blow apart any attempt at further communication that night: it shattered his confidence, and, if he were honest, the shrapnel had embedded deeply in his heart.

* * *

I ate half a pie later that night. Colin had tried knocking on my door a few hours after I blew up at Murphy, but I didn't answer past saying I was fine and that I was just tired. Inevitably, after Colin retired, I crept from my room and stole outside and across the yard, lighting the joint I'd hastily rolled while I was tucked against a wall of my bedroom, staring at the carpet.

Could I have been more foolish? It was bad enough I'd told Murphy I wanted him, but now he knew how it affected me. _Terrified_? It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't something I had wanted to admit, either. But he didn't deserve lies, not when he was so honest with me, candid to the point of almost inappropriate – he'd told me he was a virgin as if it were no big deal. And to him, I didn't think it was. It was to me, just another hook to snag me and pull me up to hover over the bloody mess I'd made of things. This was getting out of hand. I needed to stop this. To stop being ridiculously infatuated with him – I was, I knew that by the end of the evening. What I felt for him whenever he was in the same room as me couldn't even compare to anything I'd ever held in my heart for Joe.

_Why_ Murphy then? Why not some age-appropriate man with a job and a house and a car instead of the pitcher of the baseball team who rode a ten speed and wore punk rock t-shirts and kissed like he'd done it for centuries before? I was doing it again, thinking of him in that way I was so scared of. I couldn't think of him like this; I couldn't think of him in _any_ way. I stopped at the back of the church and looked up, squinting as the cross on the top of the steeple stood out in a shadow against the inky black of the sky.

Tomorrow, I thought as I licked off the roach and tucked it into the empty film canister in my pocket, I will wake up and I will not think of Murphy MacManus. Tomorrow, I will go about my day as if I'd never met him. Tomorrow, I lamented as I wandered back to Colin's house, would be impossible.

* * *

I spent the next day in the garden and the greenhouse, elbow deep in soil that was not the same dark color as Murphy's hair, and tending to pale blue foxglove that was not the same color as Murphy's eyes. The bench in the greenhouse was nothing more than a bench where I lined up Colin's thriving tomato plants; the rosebushes gave me more thorns than usually, each one serving to prick my thoughts, deflate them, and send me careening back to the cool afternoon. The heat had died off, though it was still pleasant, and as I pushed around leftover roast beef and potato pancakes for dinner, Colin remarked that rain would come by Wednesday, and wouldn't let up until well into the next week.

"I need a few things in town," Colin announced as he stacked away the clean dishes from dinner. "Come for the drive."

I groaned and slumped in my chair. "I don't really feel like it."

Colin gave me a sharp look. "Well, I don't feel like leavin' ya here ta eat the other half o'that pie," he said pointedly. "C'mon, it won't take long. We can even stop at the confectionary."

It _was_ actually a better option than I what I had planned: roll another bifter, get completely blazed, and then go through my book collection, sorting my books into things I think Murphy would like, and things I think he would hate. "Fine," I shrugged. Ten minutes later we were in the car, Colin behind the wheel, and cruising our way to town.

"Annabelle makes a good pie, doesn't she?"

I smiled wanly. "Aye."

"She makes it every year; it's actually better in the fall."

I nodded, and continued staring out the window.

"Márín, are ya okay?"

Colin's voice was deep with concern and I turned to see him glance my way before looking back to the road.

"M'fine," I said with a small smile.

"Really, Márín, I can't get over tha feelin' that somethin' is botherin ya…fer tha last week yav been…distant. Kinda in yer own little world. I promise if ya want ta talk, I won't go all Catholic on ya," he encouraged with a little chuckle.

"How do ya deal with temptation?"

Colin gave a little cough and sat straighter, affording me a sideways glance. "Er…in what way?"

I shrugged. "Any way. I mean…how do ya deal with wantin' somethin' ya know isn't good fer ya?"

He slowed the car down and pulled to the shoulder. When he'd placed it in park, he turned in his seat and looked at me for a moment. There was a spark of knowledge in his eyes, and suddenly I felt like perhaps I'd said too much. Had my attraction to Murphy been that obvious? I quickly looked at the dashboard, trying to remember if I'd stepped over that boundary. Perhaps wearing his hat to the game had been a little much. Perhaps we'd been a little too bold in the kitchen the night before.

"Bein' a priest this day an' age, I get asked that a lot. There's so much more fer everyone ta be tempted by, aye?" Colin sighed and rubbed the finish on the steering wheel. "I know, ya realize that, right? I know where ya go when ya sneak out at night; know where ya went when I came home from bridge."

I froze as my stomach plummeted to my toes. Fuck me, someone must have seen something, said something…"Colin, b'fore ya say anymore, I need ta tell ya that…that I didn't plan fer this ta happen. I didn't seek it out or anythin' an'…"

Colin chuckled and shook his head with a sigh. "Márín, I knew Joe smoked weed fer _years_ b'fore he met ya. An' I know that ya smoke it, too. I don't agree with it, but I can't deny it, either. God put it on earth fer some reason. Just…don't think I'm an idiot, aye?"

I blinked at him as I stared. _That_ was a close call. Here I was thinking he'd caught on to my and Murphy's indiscretions and in reality, he was lecturing me on my weed habit. My cheeks flamed, half from relief, half from embarrassment, and I nodded, looking down at my hands.

Colin put the car into drive again. "All things in moderation," he added, pulling back onto the road.

I nodded, feeling even more lost. I had a feeling that 'moderation' wasn't in Murphy's vocabulary.

The rest of the ride was silent, not that it was long, and soon we were pulling up in front of O'Shea's, the local grocer. Once inside the store, Colin grabbed a basket and we wandered up and down the aisles, pulling things from the shelves as we went. It was while I was mulling over red onions versus sweet yellow when I heard my name in an unfamiliar voice and I glanced up to see Mike Flanery standing on the other side of the bin with a smile.

"Good evenin'!" he exclaimed. "Nice ta see ya again."

"Hello, Mike," I nodded with a forced smile. _Here's that age-appropriate man, the one with the job, and the house, and the car_. Suddenly, I missed Murphy's punk rock T shirts and scuffed sneakers. I forced my smile to remain firmly intact.

"Now, see, _that_ smile should be in a church ta light tha place up," Mike said as he rounded the bin and came to stand before me. "Though I'll take yer smile in a grocer any day." He glanced over my shoulder. "Hello again, Colin!"

"Ah, Mike! How did ya like the service yesterday?"

Mike nodded. "Aye, t'was upliftin'. I was just tellin' Márín here that she was missed."

"You should come fer a nightcap," Colin went on, ignoring the sudden look of panic in my eyes.

Mike frowned, looking a little crestfallen, and dropped his gaze to mine. "Unfortunately, I'm grading term papers t'night. Have ta get them finished so this lot can graduate, aye?" He winked and looked back to Colin. "But I'll be seein' ya next Saturday night, if it's all the same."

Colin's brow furrowed. "Saturday night?" he echoed.

"Aye, the Spring Formal. Ya volunteered to chaperone."

Colin's eyes widened and he shook his head. "Oh, forgive me, Mike, it completely slipped my mind!"

I snorted, knowing all too well how faulty Colin's memory was.

"I have to be in Dublin again next weekend," Colin continued, rubbing the back of his neck and looking rather anxious. Suddenly, Colin's dark eyes landed on me. "Will ya take a stand in?"

Was he actually volunteering me to chaperone a high school dance? And not just any dance, but Murphy's Spring Formal? I shook my head, already opening my mouth when Mike spoke up.

"Of course!" he gushed with great enthusiasm. "I dare say she'd look better in a dress, aye?"

Colin laughed and nodded. "An' she's better at dancin', too. What d'ya say, Már?"

What _could_ I say? Well, I could say a lot, actually, but I wasn't about to rip a strip of my brother-in-law in the middle of a grocery store and give him a sounding off for being pushy. I glared at him for a second. "I don't have anythin' ta wear," I lamented flatly with a little shrug.

Colin snorted with a grin. "Oh, c'mon, I'm sure Jenny will jump at tha chance ta go shoppin' with ya!"

"It'll be fun," Mike chimed in. "Loud music, watered down punch, horny teenagers…" he trailed off as I looked at him with an arched eyebrow.

"Thought tha purpose of a chaperone was ta make sure tha teenagers didn't _get_ horny."

"Ah, see, yer a perfect fit!" Mike shrugged. "What else are ya gonna do in Wicklow on a Saturday night?"

Stay at home and get blissfully high? Watch bad TV? Eat my weight in chocolate? All seemed viable options, anything to keep me clear of a certain horny teenager, but it was no use. It seemed my non-answer was as good as yes and Mike was already pulling out a piece of paper and writing his phone number on it along with the time of the dance, in case, as he put it, "You want a lift. Not like a date. Unless that's okay."

I smiled and folded the paper into my purse. "I'll keep that in mind," I answered diplomatically. An awkward silence suddenly crept between us and I glanced back and forth between Mike and Colin.

"Well, don't let me keep ya," Mike finally said, stepping aside. "I hope ta hear from ya this week."

"All right," I nodded. I waited as Mike and Colin shook hands; I waited while we had our purchases rung up; I waited until we were tucked away in the car and a safe distance from O'Shea's before I blew up at Colin.

"What is _wrong_ with you?" I hissed, turning from the passing countryside to glare hotly at Colin.

He quickly looked to me, shock clear on his face, before turning back to the road. "What is…whaddya mean what's wrong wit' me?"

"Chaperoning tha Spring Formal? Ya blindsided me, Colin, ya fuckin' blindsided me an' now Mike Flanery tinks dat dis is a fuckin' date!"

Colin growled something about foul language and once again looked my way. "Look at it dis way: yer doin' me a favour, aye?" He shook his head. "Daft woman, m'not tryin' ta set ya up wit' _anybody_, though Lord knows it might do ya some _good_," he growled, gripping the steering wheel. "M'sick o'ya hauntin' me house all day an' night. I won't let ya tear me a new one fer dis, Márín. Go to tha dance an' see how people actually _live_."

I blinked rapidly as I felt tears rise. I was never one for getting angry; I got upset, often so much and so quickly that I reverted to tears instead of yelling. "I don't want ta chaperone a fuckin' high school dance an' I don't want ta fuckin' cook dinner fer tha MacManus clan and I don't want ta be yer fuckin' charity case!" My outburst surprised the both of us and the tears, it seemed, were held at bay and for a moment. The only sound filling the car was the rapid in and out of my breathing and Colin's jaw clicking as it clenched.

"Stop feelin' sorry fer yerself," Colin uttered.

I snorted. "Some priest you are…" I clapped my mouth shut as Colin tore the car along the shoulder and slammed on the brakes.

"Márín, I've always prided meself on me infinite patience, aye? D'ya think yer tha only one that was hurt when Joe died? Lookin' at ya reminds me every day that Joe is gone an' he's not comin' back." He stopped short with his admission and I stared at him, hurt most definitely evident in my expression. He crumbled then. "Lass, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that…"

I shook my head as my teeth tore at my lips. "It's all right. It's okay, I want ya ta tell me." I looked back at Colin and for the first time since Joe had died, I saw the toll it had taken on him to lose his baby brother. "Colin, I'm so sorry, I've been so selfish, an'…an' closed off, an' I know I've not been makin' it easy…"

"But ya do. Ah, Márín, ya do, make it easy an' make it hard. I love ya like tha sister I never had an' sometimes it breaks me heart because yer the only real connection ta Joe that I have left. He wouldn't want ya ta be mopin' around, lamentin' after his sorry ass. Joe would want ya ta be havin' fun. Bein' sociable. I'm just…I'm just tryin' ta do what's right by him, and by you."

I sagged against the seat with a defeated sigh. Colin was right, to some degree, I just didn't want to admit it. I was still harbouring sour feelings about the nature of my marriage, which had been no fault of Joe's. I hadn't been honest with him, and I hadn't been honest with myself. I looked at Colin, smiling in spite of myself. "An' that includes sendin' me out on dates with English teachers?"

Colin groaned good naturedly and let his head drop against the seat. "Ya heard him, it's only a date if ya want it ta be."

It was my turn to groan as I shook my head. "You really weren't kiddin' when ya said ya struck out wit' girls, were ya?"

Colin sputtered. "What's that supposed ta mean?"

"Nothin'," I sighed, waving to the road. "Let's get movin'. Apparently, I have to arrange a shoppin' date. Got a dance ta go to."

* * *

"Don't even know _why_ I'm fuckin' doin' this," Murphy groused as he stood beneath the bright halogen bulbs of Reed's Suit and Tie. It was Thursday, cold and rainy, and Connor had dragged him onto the train into Dublin after school to pick up duds to wear to the formal. Murphy sighed again and tugged at the skinny red tie looped around his neck. "I don't even want ta go."

"Well, ya _are_ goin', so don't bother tryin' ta whine yer way out o'it," Connor scolded from the next set of mirrors. He turned and surveyed the white suit jacket, black cummerbund and tie, and black slacks. "What about this?" He stepped back and held his arms out for inspection.

Murphy grew aggravated with his tie – the salesman had folded it into a full Windsor, flooding his memory with images of Márín tying his tie after…well, just _after_. He craned his neck back and gave Connor a once-over. "A little bit too much _Bond_, aye?"

Connor frowned, smoothing his hands down the front of his jacket. "Aye, that's tha point, ya fuckin' retard." He flipped Murphy off for good measure and turned back to the mirror. "I like it." He fiddled wit his tie. "You find anythin'?"

"I dunno," Murphy huffed, rolling the cuffs of the black dress shirt up. "I guess so. Like I said, I don't really want ta go, an' I don't want ta go wit' Katie, an'…"

"An' I said yer fuckin' goin' so quit ballin'. Sides, if ya don't go wit' Katie, Molly won't go wit' me an' 'er parents are gone that weekend, aye?" Connor wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. "You gonna tell me what's really botherin' ya, or are we goin' wit yer lame excuse of not wantin' ta take Katie to tha dance?"

Murphy tore open the Windsor knot and yanked the tie away, unfastening the buttons on his collar as he stepped back into the dressing room. "She said she was _terrified_ – can ya believe that? _Terrified_ o' wantin' me."

"Scare tha shit out o'me if I wanted ya like that," Connor quipped, instinctively knowing that Murphy was talking about Márín.

"Fuck off," Murphy said off-side. "I mean, what's there ta be so terrified about?"

"She didn't tell ya?"

"No," Murphy snapped. "She said she wanted me, it terrified her, an' then she disappeared inta her room. I don't fuckin' know, Conn, but I'm guessin' they're all tha same, no matter 'ow old they get. Always tellin' ya one thing when they mean another. Wasted a perfectly good opportunity ta talk – thank ya, by the by. Although she was on ta ya, what wit' yer idea of a tour round tha grounds."

"Can't do wrong by me own brother," Connor summed up. He stepped out of the change room, dressed once more in his jeans and hooded sweatshirt. He handed the salesman his suit and wandered up front to fill out the rental information.

Murphy joined him minutes later, piling the dress shirt and tie onto the counter and pulling out his wallet.

"No suit?" Connor inquired, signing his receipt.

"Nah. Can't stand em'. Too many layers. Sweat like a whore in church."

"Aye, Lord's truth," Connor nodded. "So, whaterya gonna do? 'Bout Márín, I mean?"

Murphy shrugged, pocketing his change and picking up the bag with his purchases. "Nothin', I suppose. Back off. Give 'er some space." He looked up from the purchase desk to find Connor cupping a hand around his eyes as his face was pressed up against the shop window.

Connor suddenly turned, mile-wide grin on his face. "Now, that don't sound like me brother Murphy talkin'. Don't remember him ever givin' up so easily." Connor led him to the door and out into the drizzle, and then yanked him across the street.

"What are ya on about?" Murphy growled, glancing up at the store they'd stopped in front of. "What tha fuck are we doin' at a dress shop?"

Connor grinned before he pulled the door open. "Think of it as yer second chance, brother. An' don't ever say I never did nothin' fer ya." He shoved Murphy in and then followed behind, the chimes overhead announcing their arrival.

* * *

"All right, spill," Jenny hissed as we hung our coats up at the front of Lizzie's All Occasion and made our way back to the dress section. "What tha hell d'ya need a dress fer?"

"Um…I have a thing… on Saturday." I shrugged, slinging hangers aside and assessing their contents.

"Like a date?" Jenny practically squealed, jumping up and down. "Oh, sweet Jesus, finally! You have a date – is it with that guy, Murphy?"

My fingers tightened on the shoulder of a sequined dress and I shook my head. "No…Mike," I muttered. I sighed and looked up at Jenny. "An' it's not a date."

"Wait, Mike?" She frowned. "I thought his name was Murphy?"

"His name _is_ Murphy…but I'm goin' with Mike. But not actually goin'." I shook my head at how crazy I sounded. "Let's just look, all right? It's been years since I wore a dress an' I'm not sure about…"

"How about this?" Jenny cut me off, holding up a hanger with a ridiculously short, incredibly red, micro mini dress that would look more in place in a club in London.

"Uh…no, I don't think so."

She sighed dramatically and shoved it back onto the rack. "Ya better not turn down every thing I pick out fer ya – I thought ya said ya needed my help?"

"I do," I sighed. With the dress, I thought, and more. I plucked a few choices and handed them to the salesgirl who was hovering nearby.

* * *

"Connor," Murphy growled lowly, scanning the store. "What are we…" he trailed off, recognizing the head of golden waves halfway across the store. He whirled on Connor, blue eyes wide and indignant. "What the fuck – are ya fuckin' crazy?" he hissed.

Connor glared and clapped a hand over his brother's mouth, pulling him behind a grouping of mannequins. "No, but I swear you'll drive me there with yer mopin' about. Go fuckin' talk t'her."

Murphy stared at Connor as if he'd grown two heads.

"She can't get away – she's in a store for Chrissake," Connor explained.

"Lord's fuckin' name," Murphy pointed out, watching as Connor made a quick sign of the cross.

"Aye, fine, great, but c'mon, Murph. Where's she gonna hide? The dressin' room? Just a curtain separatin' ya."

Murphy frowned and leaned around the mannequin he stood behind. Márín was talking with another woman her age, a tall, willowy female with a long fall of black hair. "What about her friend?" Murphy muttered, glancing back to Connor.

Connor gave him a thumbs up. "Leave 'Legs' ta me. Never met a girl who could resist me charm, no matter her age. I'll cut her off when Márín goes to tha change room, aye?" He was already moving across the store.

"Wait – what?" Murphy scrambled out of his hiding spot and ducked into a row of hangers, frantically watching Connor stalk across the store towards the brunette.

* * *

"All right, I've got enough here, I'm goin' in," I lamented, looking at the pile of possibilities I'd amassed. I followed the sales girl down the dim hall to a wide berth of dressing rooms, all cordoned off with a heavy, black velvet curtain. I slipped into the one the salesgirl motioned to and slung the curtain shut. Tossing my purse to one side, I started on my sweater, and then my blouse, stripping off the layers until I was left standing before a three way mirror in naught but my underwear. I reached up and pulled the first dress from its hanger.

* * *

As Márín disappeared down the hall, Murphy moved to follow, and Connor deftly slid beside the brunette and said something that made said brunette pause and then giggle rather flirtatiously. Murphy rolled his eyes. "Fuckin' town bicycle indeed," he muttered under his breath. Checking to ensure that the salesgirl was occupied with something else, he stole down the hallway he'd watch Márín disappear down.

He was confronted by four rooms in an arch formation, each with their curtains drawn closed. Fuck, he hoped she was the only one back here or he had a feeling he'd end up in County with a lewd behaviour charge on his record. The rustling of fabric to his right made him shift his gaze and he waited, holding his breath, hoping that it was Márín.

* * *

I wrinkled my nose at the royal blue dress I tried. It was nothing spectacular, save for the color, but I knew that I wouldn't get away with not letting Jenny give her opinion. I reached for the edge of the curtain and slung it back, stepping out into the main area. "Hey, Jen, zip me up, aye?" I asked, looking down as I shuffled across the floor. "I don't know about this one…" I trailed off as I raised my eyes.

The brunet across from me was _not_ the one I expected.

* * *

His breath caught in his throat as Márín burst into the main area, head down, going on about needing someone to zip her up. She froze as she looked up, her green eyes wide and clearly confused. Confusion melted to shock, melted to uncertainty, and Murphy winced as he watched her waffle with her emotions.

"Hi," he dared to breathe.

She blinked once. "What tha fuck are ya doin' back here?"

* * *

I didn't mean for my question to come out so harsh. He may have been the only thing on my mind, but he was the _last_ person I expected to see. Today. In a change room. The half smile he had tried on me faltered slightly. I shook my head. "I'm sorry, but…really, what are ya doin' here?" I tried again, gentler this time.

"Ah…" he paused, his blush forming on his cheekbones and ears, and he glanced down the hallway for a second. "Didn't give me much of a chance ta plead me case on Sunday, yeah?"

Now it was my turn to shift uncomfortably and blush. My skin itched where the fabric of the dress hit me, and the cool air of the store blasted against my back where the zipper still gaped open. "So ya thought ya'd ambush me?"

Murphy winced again. "That…uh…" he rubbed the back of his head. "That was Connor's idea."

My eyes widened and I jumped back into the change room, glancing about. "Connor's here, too?" I hissed.

Murphy waved down the hall. "He's out there runnin' interference on yer friend."

"Jenny?" I laughed, imagining Jenny's reaction to a clearly flirtatious Connor. "She's married, ya know."

"Aye, well, don't think that will deter Connor."

I rolled my eyes. "Jesus, one's as bad as the other."

"Lord's name," Murphy chided. "An' yer not married."

I gave him a pointed look and slung the curtain closed, yanking the dress off. "Well, yer here now," I sighed, resigned. "Talk."

* * *

Jaysuz, Mary, n'Joseph, she wasn't goin' ta make _any_ of this easy, was she? Murphy muttered something under his breath about stubborn women. But he was tenacious, if nothing else, and he pursued her, stopping just inches from the black velvet barricade.

He brushed the fabric with his fingertips, wanting nothing more than to touch her, instead. He closed his eyes and leaned his head up against the framework of the cubicle. "I don't rightly understand what ya said t'me on Sunday night," he began softly.

He heard a rustle of fabric and then her reply, just as softly as his question had come: "You couldn't."

He took a breath. "Then make me understand."

He heard the rings of the curtain slide on the rod and he stood straight, watching as Márín stepped out and faced him, her chin tilted up so that she could look him in the eyes. "Don't be in a hurry to grow up, Muprhy."

Murphy growled and pushed away from the frame, moving towards her. "Enough with the age shite, Márín. I get it, there's a huge difference there, but why does that have to be a deciding factor? Isn't enough that I want ya, an' you want me?"

She took a step back, blinking at his tone of voice. "In a perfect world, yes. But it's far from perfect – how could this possibly work? My brother-in-law is your priest, for Chrissake."

"He's not yer father," he pointed out. "An' he's not mine, either. I'm not askin' ya ta do anythin' but let me in. M'not gonna hurt ya…"

"How d'ya know that?" Márín snapped, her green eyes flashing.

Murphy cocked his head to one side, a look of disbelief on his face. "I wouldn't…"

"How do ya know I won't hurt _you_?"

Murphy's frown deepened. "I don't," he mumbled, looking at his hands. "Would ya?" He swung his blue eyes back up and the maelstrom of emotions there was enough to make me catch my breath.

"No," she answered softly. "But _someone_ is goin' ta get hurt, Murphy. In the long run o'things, can ya honestly see this workin'?"

Murphy shrugged with an easy smile. "Then it doesn't work in tha long run. I told ya, m'not askin' fer anythin' but fer you ta trust me. An' if it lasts fer a week, or a year, or a decade, then we'll deal with it, whatever tha case. Just…don't doom this b'fore it even gets off tha ground."

* * *

I narrowed my eyes at him and his damned rational speech. Stalking past him, I threw myself into the dressing room and slung the curtain closed once more before slumping onto the bench there. Cradling my head in my hands, I took a few deep breaths. "I…" I sighed, knowing that what he was saying was reasonable. And this thing 'getting off the ground' was an understatement. I was fairly certain we were already flying too close to the sun.

I had to hand it to him, though. I'd never been pursued so thoroughly before. And never by someone I'd felt so strongly for. The feeling was addictive, and I had a feeling that I wasn't the only one with the habit. After all, he'd come to me, in a dressing room in a dress shop of all places. I didn't ever remember Joe shopping with me _once_. The kid had guts. He took chances. Things didn't seem to be working the way I had planned. Avoiding him didn't seem like a viable option. Maybe, I thought, I should take a page from his book.

Fine, then, I decided. If I was going to burn in the fires of hell, I might as well have some fun before hand. I took another deep breath and jumped. Well, stuck a toe in. "I need some time," I finally said. "Ta think about this." I pushed to my feet, pulling the dress off without even looking at it and replaced it with a third candidate. I didn't even look at myself before I snapped the curtain open again. "In tha meantime, stop kissin' me."

"Then stop makin' me want ta kiss ya," he murmured gently, taking a step forward.

I held a finger up in warning. "I mean, it, Murphy. No more lookin' at me with those flirty little glances, or fidgetin' wit' yer mouth, or tryin' ta hold me hand, or comin' round tha house on Sunday mornins while tha rest o'tha village is across tha way listenin' ta Colin's sermon."

He frowned, though he did it playfully. "Doesn't leave me very much ta work with, aye?" With a chuckle, he shrugged. "All right, if ya wanna play it that way." He moved towards me, his eyes never leaving mine, and caught my shoulders, turning me away from him. His fingers landed on the zipper at the back of the dress, brushing against the delicate skin at the base of my spine. Immediately, my skin began to tingle and all I wanted was for him to touch me more, anywhere and everwhere. "But I'm gonna dream about every kiss we've shared," he continued, his voice barely more than a purr as his eyes held mine in the mirror. "Cuz every time I close my eyes, I can feel ya beneath my hands, hear ya fallin' apart, taste you on my lips." His head dipped low and he pressed his nose gently against the side of my neck. He inhaled deeply. A breathy moan escaped my lips and my fingernails dug into my palms in an attempt to not just grab him. "I want ya just as bad as ya want me," he whispered thickly, "an' when that happens, it's gonna be good. Ya know it will." He dragged the zipper up and stepped back, appraising his work.

I drew a shuddering breath, my eyes already following every movement of his lips. "When is your birthday?" I asked breathlessly.

The corner of his mouth went up in that damnable smirk and I felt my guts flutter. "So, we're waitin' fer me birthday?" He pulled his bottom lip between his teeth and gave me a thorough once-over, trying his hardest to melt my clothes from my body. He leaned to the side, brining his lips close to my ear. "Next Wednesday. Can't think of a better present, girl."

I narrowed my eyes. "An' stop callin' me 'girl'," I snapped, giving him a playful shove back.

"Yes, ma'am," he sassed, taking another step back.

* * *

It took every ounce of control to back away from her, and he did it with shaking hands which he hoped went unnoticed. But he'd clearly gotten to her; her collarbone was flushed where it was peeking out from the heat-shaped neckline of the dress, and her pupils were wide in the reflection of the mirror. He paused, taking her in, and then swept his eyes down over the dress she was wearing. He couldn't help the face he made, and Márín's sudden bark of laughter brought his eyes back up.

"Christ, it's bad, innit?" she sighed, tugging at the overly-puffed, burgundy sleeves.

Murphy's face didn't improve; in fact, it crumpled more, and he nodded vigorously. He wasn't even going to scold her for using the Lord's name, because, Jesus fucking H Christ, it was "God awful," he concurred. He cocked his head to one side. "Why are ya shoppin' fer a dress?"

She glanced down at her hands where her fingers twisted. He recognized it as a nervous habit and when she looked back up, she turned so that she could look into his face instead of his reflection. "I have this…thing…on Saturday night."

He opened his mouth to ask further, but he was interrupted by the arrival of the leggy brunette, Connor close behind her.

"Tried to stall her as much as I could," Connor shrugged, watching as the brunette surveyed the pair standing in the dressing room.

"Who's this?" she asked, clearly confused at finding another teenage boy in a ladies' dress shop.

* * *

I cleared my throat and gave Jenny a weak smile. "Ah…" I turned to Murphy. "This is my good friend, Jenny O'Reilly. Jenny…this is Murphy MacManus."

Jenny gave him half a smile. "Hi, Murph…" she paused, glancing back to me. "Wait…_Murphy_? As in…_Murphy_?" she hissed sharply.

I bit my lip and shrugged. "Aye. As in 'Murphy'."

Jenny swung her gaze back to Murphy, looking him up and down with wide eyes. Finally, after an agonizing long time, she nodded slowly. "Okay," she murmured. "I get it. I think." She frowned and looked back to Connor. "So, who are you?"

Connor grinned. "M'Connor, lass. Murphy's twin brother."

Jenny looked between the two, her face a comical wash of disbelief, wonder, and bemusement. When she looked back at me, her gaze was rather pointed. "We should talk," she announced.

"I say we go fer a pint," Connor piped up, bouncing up on his toes.

Jenny threw a look over her shoulder that was between a smile and leer. "Ya even old enough?"

Connor cocked his head. "Old enough ta keep me mouth shut, aye. C'mon, what d'ya say? It's early; pints are on at Morgan's down the road."

Jenny turned back to me with a wide grin. "Oh, he's a catch, ain't he? Knowin' where all the drink specials are."

"I'm still lookin' fer a dress," I piped up, gesturing to the burgundy monstrosity I wore.

Jenny looked, and made a face, and Connor copied it. "Aye," Jenny nodded frantically. "That will never do." She looked to Murphy and then to Connor. "All right, enough gawkin', the pair o'ya. Go get yer pints. Márín an' I have some serious work ta do. I wouldn't wait up fer us."

Connor opened his mouth but Murphy cut him off, hauling him down the hallway. "Maybe next week? Wednesday?"

"Aye, Wednesday!" Connor echoed. "Cuz that's our…" Murphy yanked him out of the hallway and back into the store. A few seconds later, the door chime sounded.

Jenny turned wide brown eyes to me. "Start talkin'."


	8. Chapter 8

_A/N: I know, two chapters in ONE weekend? It's true! I'm going to be majorly busy at the end of this week so I wasn't sure I'd be able to get to writing anything to post for next weekend. I COULD have held this one back and just posted it next weekend, but I thought, nah, you have all been so awesome to me, reading, reviewing, PMing, editing (Valerie E Mackin), soul searching (Little Miss Tightly Wound) that THIS is your reward. And Murphy's too, I suppose._

_No, it's not the big deed, but it's fun, and it's sexy, and I cracked this chapter out in one day, it ran so smoothly. I just wanted you all to know that if you think the anticipation is killing YOU, it's torturing me! Most of the fics I write start from one solid smut scene and branch out from there, or from a series of one-shots (like Ean Beag). In the case of Charmer, I'm going in pretty much blindly. I have the major plot points, and I know how I want their action to go, but instead of skipping ahead and writing the lemons and building around it, I'm writing it chapter by chapter, so really, there's as much build up for me as there is for you. I'm squirming as I write this, hoping you're squirming as you read this chapter. Oh, and that thing we talked about last night, MJ? There's a little bit here, but it's not THE one I was talking about. I think you'll know what I mean when you read it._

_To explain my last author's note, sometimes a writer gets nervous, especially a fanfiction writer, and wonders if they weren't writing fanfiction, would anyone still care as much about their work? The answer was a unanimous YES, and that warms the sub-cockles of my heart._

**_One last thing: I decided to do another reader challenge. For those of you that don't know about my reader challenges, check out the 'prizes' for the winners of said challenges: both Connor centric, one is called 'Worth' (my personal fave, written for DeDe324) and the other is 'Mileage'( written for pitbullsrok). Okay, here's the question: There is a reference to a Latin phrase in this chapter that was also used in two of my other fics. If you are the first person who can tell me which fic (and you can use either title), and the Latin phrase and how it was used in said fic, I'll write you a one shot with the twin of your choice. If you name both fics, you can have the pair if you like. PM me with your answers (or leave in a review if you don't have an account); challenge closes March 3. Good luck!_**

* * *

"Okay, let me see if I've got this right." Jenny sat back from where she leaned over our table in a booth at Flanagan's and looked me hard in the eye. "We were dress shoppin' cuz yer chaperonin a high school dance that Murphy will be attendin' because he's seventeen an' yer goin' wit' his English teacher."

Well, when she said it like that, it did sound rather unhealthy. I opened my mouth to defend myself, but Jenny was still going.

"Said seventeen year old is the same seventeen year old that ya been lustin' after fer…how many weeks?"

"About three," I muttered, glancing back into the depths of my pint.

Jenny sighed and shook her head. "How did you meet him?"

My cheeks burned and I ducked my head as I replied meekly: "He's doin' yard work at St. Patrick's."

"Oh my god, y'ave the hots fer tha landscaper," Jenny groaned.

"How d'ya think _I_ feel?" I groused, reaching to light another cigarette. "I didn't _ask_ to be attracted to him. I certainly didn't _ask _fer him ta kiss me. Twice." The lighter wouldn't ignite and I grew frustrated. Jenny reached across the table and took over for me.

"Honestly," she shrugged, setting the lighter aside after my cigarette blazed to life, "I can see the attraction. I mean, if he's anything like his brother."

I paused mid-drag and raised my eyebrow. "You filthy slag," I drawled with a leering grin.

"What?" Jenny snapped, shifting in her seat.

"Oh my lord, yer _married_!"

"I know!" Jenny barked, making more than a few heads turn. She glanced about and then leaned forward again. "I _know_," she repeated, lowering her voice. "But…Jesus, Márín, how have ya held out fer _this_ long?" Jenny effected a dramatic shiver. "I mean, those eyes…an' those rakish grins…" She sighed wistfully and stared into space. "I envy ya." She took another drag and sat straight again, turning serious once more. "He's seventeen."

"Eighteen next Wednesday," I added with a bit of a smile.

"Colin's his priest," Jenny added.

"Not his father," I replied, using Murphy's words.

"Sounds like you've already made up yer mind."

I groaned and sagged back in my seat. "I have. I mean…I _think_ I have. I mean…" I made a wide gesture with my hands. "What will people say? When we go out? I'm fourteen years older than him…"

"Márín, ya still get carded when we go to the _Shipyard_," Jenny reminded me, mentioning our favourite dance place. "You look twenty-five. Maybe twenty-seven. But even still: who _cares_? Who cares, as long as yer havin' fun an' no one gets hurt?"

I grew silent then, mulling those words over and over. That was the problem. What would happen if someone got hurt? Or rather, _when_ someone got hurt? Jenny's hand on mine brought me back to our table and I looked down to see her tapping the platinum wedding band I still wore.

"I've known ya fer how many years?"

"At least twenty," I droned.

"Right. An' in twenty years, I've _never_ seen ya this flustered over a guy. Yer excited, Márín, plain as day on yer face. Ya blush when ya say his name, yer eyes were all glassy recountin' those kisses – speaking of which, I think this kid can teach Liam a thing or two – and yer frettin' terribly about all of these 'what ifs'." Jenny shook her head. "Ya weren't even this giddy the day ya married Joe."

I stabbed my cigarette out and blew out the last lungful of smoke. "I know," I muttered. I could always count on Jenny to tell me like it was, no mincing words or the like. "But I just feel like…like I've wasted so much time already. Isn't that selfish of me? A thirty-two year old widow makin' time with a guy who should be spendin' his nights at clubs and discos scouring fer a girl his own age?"

"What does he want?"

"He wants me," I answered.

"And what do you want?"

"Him," I replied, feeling my blood begin to warm.

"Then if ya feel like ya wasted time b'fore, it's not the time ta be doin' it now. Seize tha day, an' all o'that. _Carpe diem_."

I gave her a bemused smile, grasping the handful of Latin classes I'd taken in college. "_Carpe omnium_," I replied. "Take it all."

* * *

"Yer up early," Ma observed as Murphy made his way into the kitchen that Saturday morning. "Ya workin' at tha church again?"

"Aye," Murphy nodded, pouring a cup of coffee for himself. "Hopefully I can beg off early, with tha dance an' all that."

Ma nodded, eyeing her dark-haired son closely. He made toast and took a seat across from her, munching quietly as he flipped through yesterday's paper. "Murphy," she began, waiting for his blue eyes to look up.

He gave her his heart-warming grin and folded the paper back up, setting it to one side. "Aye?"

"Be careful t'night," Ma began cryptically.

Murphy frowned. "M'not sure I follow."

Ma shifted and took another breath. "What I mean is…this dance…ta some o'these girls, it means a lot more than ya think it does. I meant what I said last weekend, I don't want ya married, saddled down with babes too soon."

Murphy rolled his eyes and picked up his coffee. "Ma, don't worry…"

"I hafta," Ma interrupted, her face serious. "I hafta worry 'bout me boys because no one else will, save for tha Lord." She paused and both she and Murphy made the sign of the cross, reciting a quick Hail Mary. "An' it's not just these girls, aye? The ones from yer form. It's women, Murphy MacManus. You an' yer brother were blessed with that damned MacManus gene that makes ya almost irresistible to some, an' completely irresistible to others. I don't want ta see ya get hurt, my love, but I don't want ya ta hurt anyone, either."

Murphy picked at his toast for a moment. "Is this about Da?"

Ma cleared her throat and stood suddenly, gathering her dishes from the table. "Yer Da," she began, a hard, but wavering edge to her voice. She took a breath. "Yer Da," she started again, this time softer, "is tha love o'my life. An' I don't know if I'll ever see tha bastard again. He left without much word, an' that's what hurts tha most."

"Don't ya think he's hurtin', too?" Murphy asked softly, looking up into his mother's eyes.

Ma gave him a crooked smile. "I like ta think that," she nodded. She turned to the sink and cranked the water, preparing to wash the dishes. "I'll be gone t'night, so if ya need help tyin' that tie…"

"I can handle it," Murphy said.

Ma paused her scrubbing. "I hope so," she gently replied before turning back to the dishes.

* * *

I drove Colin to the train on Saturday morning, in the gray rain and fog. I needed his car, I explained, to get to the high school that evening. He quirked a smile at me and reminded me that I could go with Mike Flanery, to which I replied with a non-committal grunt. I promised to pick Colin up on Monday evening, reminding him that _he_ was the one with the faulty memory and that I would be at the station promptly at six. We said our goodbyes and then I turned the car back towards the church, frowning at the sky. Rain would definitely make working in the yard a little difficult. There was still a lot to do in the greenhouse. I paused at the thought, and at one of Murphy soaked through to the bone. I groaned, pulling up the drive. I really needed something to tide me over until his birthday. Jenny had been right; I hadn't been this giddy _ever_.

Through the blurred windshield I spotted a figure huddled against the side of the house, ten-speed bike propped nearby, and the thick smoke of a cigarette being expelled from lungs. "Shit," I muttered, throwing the car into park. I knew without a doubt who it was, and I grabbed my purse and ducked out into the rain, hustling up the drive and calling out to him as I went.

"Murphy!" I barked.

He pushed away from the house and waved.

"Jesus, yer _soaked_!" I exclaimed as I came closer, looking him from head to toe. "How long have ya been out here?"

"Not long," he shrugged, flicking the end of his cigarette into a nearby puddle. "Five minutes? Maybe ten? Figured you'd be back soon so…" he trailed off with another shrug. He wiped back the dark hair hanging in his eyes and pulled his hood down further.

I began digging through my purse as he talked. "Well, hurry up, get inside," I scolded, closing my fingers around my keys.

"Ya sure y'ain't locked out again?" he grinned. "Can take shelter in the greenhouse…"

I cut him off by waving my keys triumphantly in his face. "All right, smart ass, let's go." I headed up the stairs and unlocked the door, holding it open for him to slip inside.

I hung up my coat and set my purse to one side before toeing off my soggy sneakers. Murphy, of course, had fared much worse, and his jeans were two shades darker, his hooded sweatshirt all but clinging to each plane of muscle. His hair was hanging in his eyes again and I shook my head at him – he looked like a drowned cat, and I could tell he was uncomfortable.

"Shoes off. Head to tha bathroom. I'll put yer things in tha dryer. What are ya doin' here so early?" I rattled off as I led him down the hall to the bathroom. I flicked the light on there and ushered him into the small space.

"Figured there might be work ta be done in tha greenhouse…didn't want to _not_ show up in case ya had somethin' planned." He unzipped his sweatshirt and peeled it off, and then made short work of the t-shirt underneath.

My mouth went dry as he undressed, seeming completely at ease with his growing nudity. He shifted in his jeans and started to work on his belt. The sharp click of metal against metal made me whirl around, putting my back to him. "There's this…new thing…called a phone…"

"Aye," he huffed, and it was followed by a _thunk_ I could only assume was his wet jeans sliding to the floor. "But I needed the fresh air."

There was a bit more rustling and then his fist appeared over my shoulder. He unclenched his fist and the first half of his rosary spilled from his palm, the cross dangling before me. "Can ya hold this? M'gonna hop in tha shower, skin's fuckin' itchin' like mad."

I paused, and then reached out and took a gently hold of it as his fingers let the length of it go. It was still warm, most likely from his hand, but I couldn't help but entertain the thought that it was from being slung around his neck and pressed into his chest. The sound of the shower starting filled the room, along with steam from the hot water, and I afforded myself a glance over my shoulder.

He'd turned his back to me, testing the water with his hand, and while I'd seen his top half naked three weeks past, seeing the other half as well just solidified my decision to pursue the attraction between us. He was mouth-watering, with long, lean limbs all covered in that smooth, pale skin, freckles dotting his shoulders and his upper arms. Jeans didn't do his backside justice; he was firm and rounded perfectly in all the right places and his thighs were strong, well muscled, and tapered into developed calves and strangely beautiful ankles. I wondered what his toes might look like.

He cleared his throat and the sound was like an alarm, ripping through my daydreams. I felt my cheeks flame and I quickly looked up to meet his bemused gaze. "Ya want in on this?" he asked, gesturing to the shower. "Save water an' all o'that." He flicked his hair from his eyes.

"Uh…" I shook my head, quickly averting my gaze. "Clothes…dryer," I muttered, reaching blindly to scoop up his sodden jeans and sweater and…Christ on the cross, a pair of tighty-whities. I balled the lot up, forcing my mind away from thoughts on his underwear. "Coffee," I blurted out, and then I spun quickly and left the bathroom, slamming the door shut. I think I heard him chuckling.

* * *

He shuddered as he stepped under the warm spray, and he smiled as he thought about the look in her eyes as she appraised his backside. He thought she was going to fall over when he invited her to join him. He was being serious, of course. It was driving him mad, really, now that he'd touched her, felt her warm skin beneath his palms, but seen nothing more than the bare expanse of her legs and the beautiful slope of her shoulders and neck. And just like that, blood was rushing south. He did his best to ignore it, having some sense of propriety. He drew the line at tossing off in someone else's home. Shaking his head, he threw the thought from his mind and scrubbed at his skin quickly.

With the water shut off a few minutes later, he slung the curtain back and was presented with the thick white towels on their racks. Pulling one, he rubbed it over his hair and then down his limbs before wrapping it about his hips. The cool air of the hallway blasted him as he opened the door and he followed the smell of coffee back out into the kitchen. More aromas assaulted his nose, those of frying bacon and some sort of herb, and his stomach protested, having only been filled with toast an hour before.

"Clothes should be ready in about an hour," Márín announced from where she stood over the stove. "Had to toss mine in, too. I haven't eaten yet, and I made enough for two. Are ya hungry or," she turned and her speech faded away as she looked him over.

He froze, too, finding her standing in another pair of tiny shorts, another sloppy t-shirt that slid down one shoulder, and her hair pulled up high in a ponytail. She looked like she was a freshman in college, not a thirty-two year old woman, and he gave her a crooked grin as his toes gripped the linoleum. "Ah…sorry 'bout the towel. Nothin' ta wear," he explained lamely. He shoved a hand through his hair, pushing it back from his forehead again.

She blinked and her cheeks reddened, and she couldn't keep the smile from crawling onto her face. "I don't think I mind," she practically purred.

The tone of her voice vibrated down Murphy's spine and he wandered into the kitchen, taking a seat at the table. "Smells good," he offered as he watched her work.

"Nothin' fancy," she replied with a shrug as she worked. "Eggs Benedict. My favourite." She turned and looked at him before nodding to the coffee maker. "Coffee is there. Ya know where the mugs are."

* * *

_This_ was not how I'd seen the morning unfolding, but I was starting to get the feeling that anything to do with Murphy would be unpredictable. It was almost too surreal, the two of us working around each other in some mockery of a married couple's morning routine. He watched me when he thought I wasn't looking, and I stole more than a few glances at him. How could I not? I think my subconscious was working against me when it conveniently made me forget to leave something out for Murphy to wear after his shower. But he seemed okay with it, padding around barefoot, the moisture from the shower drying on his skin as he poured coffee for the both of us. He even knew how I took my coffee – black, with two sugars – and when I turned from the stove with two plates, he was seated at the small table, flipping through the Dubliner I'd picked up from the station that morning.

I sat across from him, setting our plates down. I was about to dig in when Murphy bent his head, clasped his hands, and said a quick prayer in Gaelic. I sat clutching my fork, fascinated by him. Every time I thought I had him figured out, another layer was revealed. He sat back and looked up at me with a smile. "Looks good."

I nodded and motioned for him to start. "Dig in."

We ate in companionable silence for a spell. "I didn't know ya spoke Gaelic," I said a little while later.

He looked up from the paper and shrugged. "Ma insisted," he explained. "You know it?"

"I know enough," I replied. "Always makes me a little sad knowing that the language is slowly dying off. Ya speak it beautifully."

"Comes in handy when Connor an' I are talkin', yeah? We've pretty much figured out who knows it and who doesn't, so we know when ta use it. Most of our teachers don't know it." He smirked and picked up his coffee.

I nodded, watching him as he spoke. "Ya know, fer someone…" I paused, not wanting to say 'your age'. I didn't want to draw any attention to that, at least not right now. I didn't want anything to burst the bubble we had created. "Yer very sure of yerself," I continued. "Very…"

Murphy snorted with a raised eyebrow. "Mature?" he ventured, taking the words out of my mouth.

I shrugged, helplessly, and nodded.

"Had ta grow up sooner than most," he explained pointedly.

My cheeks burned with embarrassment – I'd obviously struck a nerve back at the dress shop when I'd told him to not be in a hurry to grow up. It was obvious; their father had left at a very early age, and he and Connor would have had to pull up their socks sooner rather than later. "Of course," I nodded. "You…ya don't remember yer Da at all?"

Murphy frowned passively and took another bite of his breakfast, chewing and swallowing before he replied. "I think I have one memory. Nothin' specific, aye? More like a feelin'. I felt safe." He gave a faint smile.

"What's his name?"

"Noah," Murphy replied. "I saw a picture once, that Ma keeps tucked in her bible, aye? Me an' Connor have the same eyes. Ma says I'm more like him." He took another gulp of coffee. "I can see that," he said with a little laugh.

"Aye," I nodded. "Connor is much more like Annabelle."

"She likes ya," Murphy continued. "Ma does. She won't come out an' say it, s'not her style. But she likes yer potatoes. That's about as close as she'll come to admittin' yer okay in her books." He set his fork down. "In some ways, Ma had to grow up too quickly, too. She was naught but twenty when Da left."

I asked my next question cautiously. "Do ya…think she still loves him?"

"Of course," Murphy replied easily. He smiled fondly. "She likes ta make a big fuss about his leavin', but I've seen her lookin' at his picture when she thinks she's alone."

The gentle rain that had been falling suddenly turned heavier, pelting the windows and the roof so hard that we both suddenly looked up, almost expecting it to come right through the ceiling overhead.

Murphy chuckled and downed the rest of his coffee, and tried to stifle his belch. He threw me a crooked grin. "Not much we can do in tha yard fer work, aye?" He growled as a dried lock of his hair slid down over his eyes and he swiped at it.

"When tha fuck was yer last haircut?" I asked with a laugh. He'd been pushing the thick, dark strands out of his eyes all morning and I could tell it was aggravating him.

"Dunno, Christmas?" he guessed.

"I could trim it, if ya like."

His eyes widened. "Really? Ya know how ta do that?"

I nodded. "I used ta do Joe's all tha time…" I trailed off at the easy tone of voice I used to describe Joe. I waited for the pang of regret to fill my guts, but when it didn't come, I relaxed a fraction. I looked back to Murphy.

He lifted a bare shoulder. "If ya don't mind. I mean, if it's too much trouble…"

"No trouble," I said. "Let me just clear tha table. The light is better in here. You okay ta sit still for a minute?"

"Eh…Might need a cigarette," he admitted.

"You can wait," I chided as I stood and collected our plates. "How about you make more coffee while I locate the shears?"

He nodded. "Aye."

* * *

His hands twitched where they rested on his thighs, still clad in the towel swathed about his hips. With a cigarette clamped between his lips – he managed to talk Márín into letting him have one inside, next to the open kitchen window – he tried to sit as still as possible as Márín stood behind him, dragging a comb through his damp hair. The shears flashed in the overhead light as she picked them up, and Murphy muttered around his cigarette, "Just, don't scalp me, aye?"

Márín chuckled. "Relax," she said, followed by a clean, cool _snip_. A quarter inch of dark hair fluttered to the floor. "I promise I'll just clean it up. Gotta look good fer yer date an' all."

Murphy snorted and took another drag from his cigarette.

"Well, don't sound so excited, aye?" she murmured, making another cut.

He hummed as her fingers threaded through his hair and scored across his scalp. "I got tricked inta goin'," he mumbled.

She snorted from somewhere behind him. "Oh, aye, I believe that."

"I was distracted," Murphy snapped, sitting straighter.

Her hand came down on his shoulder. "Don't move," she warned, her fingers lingering on the muscle and tendon there. Soon enough, her fingers swept back, but not before smoothing over the skin on the back of his neck.

Beneath the towel, he jerked and he cleared his throat, forcing his mind back to Katie Hanigan. The twinge in his balls receded. "Fuck, I was distracted," he repeated.

Márín reached with her hand suddenly, and plucked the cigarette from his lips, bringing it to her own and holding it there while she worked. "What, did she show ya her tits or somethin'?"

"No," Murphy growled. He ducked away and turned to face her before her hands landed in his hair again. "If ya must know, I was distracted by you across tha car lot."

* * *

I blinked the smoke from my eyes and pulled the cigarette away. "Oh," I answered with a small, satisfied smile. "Is she gonna be trouble? She seems like trouble."

Murphy chuckled, taking his cigarette back. "I wouldn't doubt it. Seems ta think me an' her are meant ta be, or some shite like that."

I remembered those high school crushes. I remembered getting all worked up over a boy who wouldn't give me the time of day. I suspected Murphy was a bit nicer than that, but I could tell by his tone of voice that any sort of future with Katie Hanigan was _not_ in his plan. "Well," I sighed, setting the shears down, "be sure ya let her down easy, aye?"

Murphy sputtered and shook his head, crushing out his cigarette in the ashtray I held for him. "Believe me, I've tried. She doesn't seem ta get it."

I remembered those girls, too. I set the ashtray down and left the subject, and instead turned my attention to Murphy's hair. I hadn't realized how tempting doing this for him would be – with Joe, it had been about as sensual as mowing the lawn. With Murphy, though, I was surrounded by his scent, his warmth, and I couldn't fight the flutter in my belly I felt every time I paused to comb my fingers through his hair. He reacted to every touch, too, purring, rolling his head into my hand, closing his eyes, humming…I was convinced that Murphy could turn just about anything he did into something seductive. Or maybe that was just me. I smoothed my fingers through the hair at the back of his head and tugged it gently. "How long do ya want it back here?"

"Bring it up, if ya like. Just leave it long on top, aye?"

Deciding to start small and let him make the call, I trimmed half an inch off the back and then moved around in front of him to comb out the sides. "Ya got a lot o'hair," I murmured as I stood between his knees. I leaned down in front of him and pulled the sides down along his ears to gauge the evenness. My eyes moved from left, to right, and then paused in the middle as he looked up at me.

He swallowed audibly and his eyelids dropped, making his gaze dark and devious. "Thought I told ya ta stop makin' me want ta kiss ya," he uttered thickly. I felt his knees press against the outside of my thighs as if he were going to trap me there.

I bit my bottom lip and quickly looked away. My eyes landed on the shears and I picked them up. "Don't tease a woman with scissors, Murphy," I drawled, standing straight again. "Sit back," I ordered, pushing at his shoulder.

He complied, leaning back into the chair and tilting his head back to look at me.

I shook my head and smiled. "Head down," I continued, cupping his jaw and tilting his head so that he stared at my midsection. "Don't move."

* * *

Sweet Jesus, she was torturing him. The moment she'd leaned down in front of him, he didn't know whether or not it was on purpose: her neckline had gaped open, giving him a money shot of her small breasts encased in a dark blue bra. When he'd met her eyes a second later, he hadn't been lying about wanting to kiss her. His palms itched, wanting to grab onto her. Directing him to look straight ahead, he did as she asked, and had to stifle a groan as she leaned up and over him, the front of her shirt brushing his chin, the hem of it lifting up and showing him her smooth, golden-skinned belly. She smelled so good, just like he remembered – honey, and new grass. He shivered as she made another cut, and then another, and when she set the shears down again, he watched as his hand suddenly moved on its own accord. The very tips of his fingers skated around the edge of her navel, her skin soft as a peach, and he heard her breath catch in her throat. He looked up.

* * *

His bold touch did more than startle me: it made me melt between my thighs. My breath left me in a shudder and then his lips were under mine, my hands on his jaw, angling his head up, to one side, and then the other, as I plundered his mouth with my tongue and teeth. It turned rough in a heartbeat, stinging bites soothed by lips, sucking, licking, wet and hot and delicious. My fingers twined in his hair; his fingers skittered up and over my belly, wrapping into the hem of my shirt as he pulled me closer. My knee wedged between his thighs and when I felt the hard press of his arousal there, I broke from his mouth and, panting wildly, I looked down at the terry cloth tented in his lap.

"Sorry," he uttered, moving his hand from my shirt to press the heel of his palm against it.

As if that would help.

I caught his hand before he could do anything else and brought it to my mouth, kissing the centre of his palm. Then, I moved that hand down to the hem of my shirt, and brought his other one to join it. I tugged upwards with my hands on his, and then let go, nodding. His mouth fell open as he slowly worked my shirt up and then over my head. He balled the cotton up in one hand and snaked his arm around my waist, tugging me back into his chest. I could feel him shivering against me, hear his ragged breathing as his hands roamed over my back and hips. He pressed his lips to my shoulder, the underside of my jaw, down my neck, back to my ear, switching directions and keeping me guessing, so much so that when he pushed me away, I was panting, shivering just as much as he was. He looked me over, and I made the next move for him. Hooking the waistband of my shorts, I slid them down my legs and stepped out of them to perch on his thighs wearing dark blue satin panties that were already damp with my own arousal.

"Can I…" I whispered hoarsely, my fingers tugging at the towel around his hips, searching for where he'd tucked the tail in.

He nodded, his mouth still hanging open, and blue eyes dark and wide. I arranged myself on his thighs, my ass resting on his knees, and held his gaze as my fingers drew a shaking path along the taut skin of his belly. I combed through the fine dark hair below his navel, making him hiss and jut his chin up as his hips bucked. I shushed him, kissing him softly at the corner of his mouth as I tugged the edge of the towel free. The cotton wound around him loosened, and I drew my hand back to find where it opened against his thigh. As I pulled the one side back, I was presented with another tattoo, this one in deep green ink, depicting an ancient Celtic triskele the size of large orange. It was rustic, like it had been fashioned from oak leaves and I looked back up at him. Another layer of Murphy was revealed and I brushed my fingertips over the artwork, feeling his muscles contract.

He smiled softly, and leaned in for another kiss. His lips were soft and pliant as we worked, taking our time now. It was bone melting, and when his tongue rolled against mine and he had me panting into his mouth, the hand I'd rested on his thigh moved in, under the towel, and gently clasped around the velvet girth of his erection.

He broke his mouth from mine with a sharp grunt and shut his eyes tightly. "Fuck," he uttered, nostrils flaring, jaw tense, tendons standing out on his neck. "Ah, Márín," he gulped before digging his teeth into his lip.

I stilled my hand to give him time to think, and with my other hand I drew the towel away, leaving him naked beneath me. Pulling back from where my lips hovered over his, I looked down the length of his lean body, taking every inch of him in and committing it to memory. Just as I'd suspected, he was big, long and fairly wide, and an aching pulse throbbed between my legs. What I needed I couldn't have, not right away, but I needed to do something.

"Tell me when," I murmured, my mind whirling with excitement. Suddenly, I desperately wanted to give this to him, and to own it at the same time. I held my breath and watched as Murphy regained some semblance of control. When he opened his eyes again, it was mine turn to gasp at the blue burning with lust, and my thighs tightened where they hung around his. He nodded then, and I felt his wavering hand skate over mine where I held him firmly.

"Please," he breathed.

* * *

He almost swallowed his tongue when her hand circled his cock. He'd been brought off by a girl before, maybe a handful times, but Márín's initial touch alone was enough to tighten his balls and threaten an extremely short performance. She'd taken pity on him, waiting until he'd managed to calm down to some degree, but still he figured if he didn't get her to move, he'd probably go off anyway. He wanted to feel her do it, so he breathed a plea and nodded, and curled his fingers around where she grasped him.

She started slow, squeezing as she drew up his length, rolling her thumb against the very tip of him as her hand came back down. Balanced on his lap as she was, her torso was arched up and over his, her head angled down, wide green eyes greedily watching as she stroked his cock. His gaze joined hers and his balls quickened with tight pleasure at the sight of her hand barely able to close around him. Christ, he was already wet at the tip, and her fingertips slipped through it and worked it into his skin.

His hips moved with her jerking, and soon her hips joined his, slowly rolling towards his pelvis. When she shifted, he caught sight of the scrap of blue satin covering her cunt, and noticed with a groan that she was wet and getting wetter with every pass of her hand. His eyes flicked up to her breasts where her nipples strained against her bra. The notion that she was getting off on this as much as he was made his eyes cross and his head fell back with a ragged moan.

* * *

His breathing came in sharp gasps, and his hips began to rock out of rhythm as he tore his lips from mine. A shudder ran through his shoulders and he choked on a ragged moan. "M'gonna come," he whispered hotly as his eyes squeezed shut again. His hands slid over my back, coming to the front before dragging upwards and tightening on my breasts. "Ah, _fuck_!" he shouted hoarsely, pushing his mouth back to mine.

I nodded against his kiss. "Yes," I moaned as our lips parted. They crashed together once more, a frenzy of hot, wet, sliding, and the faster I moved my hand, the slicker it became, the harder his length pulsed. His thighs trembled beneath me and the tiny gasps that left his lungs turned into lusty, wanton moans that I swallowed. With another hard buck upwards into my grip, he froze, a gasp and a shout tearing from his lips as he suddenly, gloriously, came in my hand, splashing against my belly and, to my utter delight, the front of my dark blue satin panties.

* * *

"Hail Mary," he murmured reverently, blood still pounding in his ears. His hands convulsed on her breasts and he managed to loosen his grip before sliding his palms down her bare skin to hook on her hips. He held her steady in his lap and panted, fingers squeezing her in time with the tiny aftershocks that ran up and down his body. He felt her fingers slip from his shoulders and she finally managed to pull back, her face flushed, waves of gold slipping from her ponytail to brush her jaw.

Her eyes were glassy. He quirked a small smile at her. "Y'okay?"

A tiny giggle burst from her lips, a purely feminine sound, and she ducked her head to his shoulder with a breathy sigh. "Shouldn't I be askin' you that?"

He shrugged. "I feel fuckin' fantastic," he purred. Finally, his hands seemed to be working, and he reached and smoothed her hair back as he lifted her head from his shoulder to gaze into her eyes again. "That was…" he trailed off, unable to find words to express himself.

* * *

"Perfect," I answered for him, feeling a soaring in my chest I didn't recognize. I felt lighter somehow, and the way Murphy was looking at me only served to intensify the feeling.

He nodded in agreement and leaned up to press his lips against mine again. "Are ya sure we hafta wait until me birthday?"

I giggled again and nodded. "Aye. Every other rule I set out th'other day has been broken." I combed through his hair. "Let's keep at least one, yeah?"

Murphy sighed and leaned back in the chair, taking up a corner of the towel he sat on and using it to clean my front and then his. "Just fer tha record," he began, "you were tha one that kissed me. _Again_. An' was lookin' at me with them flirty eyes and…well…you seduced me," he shrugged.

"I suppose ya just wiped away all evidence that would prove ya weren't a willin' participant?" I ruffled his hair once more. "An _you_ were tha one that couldn't keep his hands to himself. Think I can finish yer haircut now?"

"Might be safer if I put some clothes on. M'not gonna lie, Márín, I really just want to lay ya down an' fuck."

The way he said 'fuck' only served to make my panties wetter, and my muscles clenched desperately. "Yeah," I sighed brokenly, sliding from his lap. "In that case…yeah," I rambled, waving in the direction of the laundry.

He rose from the chair on slightly unsteady legs, which made me smirk with renewed satisfaction. He was just as affected as I was, and rightfully so. When he moved past me, he paused and snaked an arm around my waist, pulling me up against his naked body. "Still scared?" he asked, searching my eyes.

"Absolutely," I nodded. "But if it's all tha same, I'll just close m'eyes and scream my way through it."

"Sounds tempting," he murmured, looking down to my lips.

"If ya kiss me again, I can't be responsible for the condition you'll leave in. Might not even let ya leave," I said softly, looking to his mouth.

"I've got a date," he breathed as he leaned closer. "An' if I'm not mistaken, so do you?"

"Ah…about that…I…" I gave a small chuckle. "Colin was supposed ta chaperone yer dance t'night, an' since he's not here…I'm…well, I'm fillin' in."

Murphy's eyebrows rose comically. "That's tha 'thing' ya were talkin' about on Thursday?"

I nodded. "Aye."

He thought about it for a moment. "Is this gonna get weird? I mean, ya just stroked a mind-blowin' load outta me an' now yer gonna be makin' sure m'not spikin' tha punch." He seemed to be talking more to himself than to me. "Wait, yer bringin' a date?"

"No," I said hurriedly. "I mean, no, not really. He might think it's a date but…" I shrugged. "I was tricked inta goin'," I grinned cheekily.

"Aye, there's a lot o'that goin' round," he quipped. "So…we're both goin' to a dance…with dates who aren't really dates…an' we're…what are we? Acquaintances?" he asked archly. "Friends?"

"I don't know," I answered honestly. "But I'd like to find out."


	9. Chapter 9

_A/N: Remember when I said it was unlikely I'd post this weekend? Well, I just couldn't, in good concsious, leave you guys stranded after all the kind words, PMs, follows, faves...you all blow my mind with your praise in all shapes and forms. I know I've said this a million times, but I'm so excited to be writing this! This is part one of the Spring Formal!_

**_And the Winners Are: Secondly, thanks for all of the responses to the reader's challenge. I REALLY wish I could write one shots for all of you that won (and each of you that answered all had correct answers). In any event, there was a two-way tie between Little Miss Tightly Wound and Nmbr1Fanilow. I've got their requests and they are in the making. Like I've said, I don't do challenges often, but I do enjoy doing them, so there may be another one in store in the future. In the meantime, enjoy Chapter 9 and thanks again to everyone for reading!_**

* * *

"Did ya get a haircut?" Connor asked, suspicion lacing his voice. He eyed Murphy in the mirror they stood before, getting ready for the dance.

Murphy smirked and shot Connor a sly look. "Aye." He turned and picked his tie up from the bed.

"Coulda let me in on that," Connor groused, smoothing a palm over the wild mess of sand blond on his head. "Definitely need one. Did ya go down ta Paddy's, then?"

Murphy snorted and shook his head as he stepped back to the mirror. "Nope."

Connor narrowed his blue eyes. "Who tha fuck cut it, then?" They'd been going to Paddy's ever since Ma almost cut Connor's ear off when they were fourteen.

Murphy slung his tie around his neck and began to fasten the buttons of his shirt. "Márín," he replied with a smug grin. But as Connor sputtered beside him, Murphy's fingers slowed on the buttons and finally stopped, pulling his collar aside. "Shit," he muttered. Márín still had his rosary. He felt a flutter of panic – he hadn't been without it since communion when the twins received them as gifts from their Uncle Sibeal.

Connor was still flapping his gums. "That's where you ran off to this mornin'? Ta get yer hair cut?"

"Aye," Murphy answered absently, concentrating on the bare skin of his throat. He caught Connor's glance, which suddenly narrowed on Murphy's neck.

"Tha fuck is yer rosary?"

"I…think I left it there. At Márín's. Took it off ta shower…" he trailed off, his cheeks heating.

"Ya _showered_ there? Jesus, Murph, _really_ wish you woulda set me up with _that_ haircut." Connor mused. "So, got a hand down on her?"

Murphy shouldered his twin aside. "Ya know she's makin' me wait."

"You couldn't change her mind?"

"Eh," Murphy answered, clearly distracted by his missing rosary. He wondered if he should call her. He checked the clock – it was getting very close to six thirty, and Molly would be by soon to pick them up in her father's car.

"Don't worry 'bout tha time,' Connor said breezily. "Molly's father won't let her take tha car in this weather. He's drivin' her an' Katie. Told 'em we'd take tha truck an' meet them there."

"We need ta stop by tha church. I need me rosary," Murphy announced solemnly.

Connor nodded in understanding. "Aye. Let's get movin' then, right? Hopefully she'll still be home."

* * *

I glanced back at the clock and swore under my breath. It was nearing six thirty. Mike had called later that day, after Murphy had left, and asked if I needed a ride. I think he knew I wasn't going to call him. I thanked him again for his offer, and told him I'd take Colin's car. Mike reluctantly agreed and asked that I arrive at the school at six thirty so he could, as he put it, 'show me the lay o'tha land'. I still needed to get dressed, and had given up on my hair. The humidity in the air had caused it to curl more than wave, and I wore it loose and tousled, brushing against my back, and pulled on the dress that Jenny had insisted I buy – a short velvet number in black, skimming my body, with a high square neckline bordered by black satin and skimming sleeves that were cut down to the first knuckle of my thumb The wow factor was in the back, where it dipped so low that I had to forgo a bra and wear microscopic panties, and though it made me feel borderline scandalous, I couldn't help but feel incredibly sexy, too.

I didn't wear a lot of jewellery to begin with, but I replaced my simple gold hoops with dangling rhinestones, and slid a set of silver and rhinestone bangles up one wrist. My thumb automatically slid to the ring finger on my left hand and began worrying the platinum band there. I took a deep breath and grasped it from my hand and slipped it off, setting it down on my dresser. With a determined huff, I looked back up into the mirror.

I looked good, and I stepped into black open-toed heels, grabbed my short, black leather jacket, and began trying to locate my keys.

The towel I'd used that morning was still on my dresser and I pulled it aside, and there were my keys, sitting where I'd tossed them. I snatched them up and moved out of my room when my heels tangled in something on the carpet. I tipped forward with a yelp and crashed to my knees with another loud swear, and crawled around to see what I'd tripped over. There, dangling from the heel of one shoe, was Murphy's rosary.

"Oh, fuck me," I growled, unwinding it from my heel and holding it up to my gaze for inspection. It seemed relatively unharmed, but it was also grossly out of place. It belonged around Murphy's neck, not on my bedroom floor. I glanced at the clock again, wondering if I could get it to him at his place before the dance. Then I realized I had no idea where he lived – I knew the general direction, but that was it. I knew I couldn't risk leaving it in the house in case Colin found it before I could get it back to Murphy. A rosary like that was unique, and I had a feeling it would be easy to recognize. I gently tucked it into my small clutch bag and headed out. I'd have to find a way to give it back to him tonight, discreetly.

My left hand reached out for the door handle on the kitchen door and I swung it wide, looking up to the sky. The rain had let up, but the clouds still loomed darkly in the sky. We would probably be in for another downpour before the night was over. Once more, my thumb went to my ring finger, but it was bare. I took another deep breath. This was okay. But when I went to take a step, I found I couldn't move. "Shit," I uttered, and with a defeated growl I hustled back to the bedroom, snatched my ring off of my dresser, and slid it back into place. Time enough to deal with it some other night. I had a funny feeling I'd need something to hold me in place. I dashed back through the kitchen and out to the drive, and dove into the car. I swiftly threw it into drive and tore down out of the church yard and down towards the high school.

I was ten minutes late – not that I was really worried. But Mike was there waiting for me at the doors as I pulled into the parking lot. It had started raining again on the ride over, and the drizzle was getting heavier as I ducked out into it, pulling my jacket up and over my head as much as I could. I hopped over puddles, swearing as I missed on and stepped right in the middle of it, and skidded under the awning where Mike was waiting. With his umbrella.

_Prick_.

"Márín! Runnin' a little late, aye? Not bother, c'mon, let's get you acquainted with the school b'fore the kids arrive.

I cocked an eyebrow at him as he more or less scolded me on my tardiness. My hackles rose slightly and my stomach began to gnaw on itself. I had the sinking suspicion that despite my attempt at being congenial and diplomatic, it was a mistake to agree to this, as Mike's not date or otherwise. I made a face at his receding back and followed him to the coat check.

"I've got ya scheduled to work up here between eight an' nine – probably won't have many more comin' in, but there will be those leavin' early. It's more or less ta keep an eye on things, aye? An' watch out for flasks – the students will hide em _anywhere_."

I nodded with a wry smile. "Right. Lead on."

He chuckled and motioned towards me. "D'ya want ta hang yer jacket up? Stay a while?"

My response was another wry smile. "A little chilled from dashing through the rain from the car," I said with some edge to my voice. He either didn't care or he was completely oblivious to the fact that I was pointing out his serious lack of manners. I guessed the latter when he shrugged and motioned for me to follow him down the hall.

He showed me the washrooms, the office, and then finally the gym, pointing out the darker corners and the spaces under the bleachers where kids were often found making out, among other things.

"Christ, it's like a Roman orgy, innit?" I laughed, throwing Mike my first genuine smile of the evening.

"Sex, booze, drugs, vomiting, repeat…aye, I'd have to agree," Mike nodded with a small chuckle. "Are ya nervous?"

I snorted and rolled my eyes. "Please. I went ta high school - I know all tha tricks."

"Aye, but it's been a while since ya were in high school…" Mike's voice died off as I glared at him.

"Callin' me old?"

"Ah…no, it's just…" he backpedalled and had the decency to look ashen.

"Right. Look, I'm goin' ta hit the ladies' room, aye?" I glanced at tha clock. "Almost show time."

* * *

"She ain't here," Murphy announced as he dove back into Ma's truck, shaking the rain from his hair.

"Then she's probably already at tha school. Jesus, this if fuckin' weird, aye? Her chaperonin' tha dance? What are tha odds?" Connor exclaimed as he backed down the drive outside of Father McMahon's house.

"Fuck th'odds, Conn," Murphy sighed, leaning his head on the window. "I think tha universe is against me."

"An' _I_ think tha Lord is testin' ya."

Murphy snorted, cracking the window and lighting a cigarette for them both. He handed one off to Connor and dragged on his own for a spell. "Failed tha exam t'day, then," Murphy muttered.

Connor swerved his head to his twin, swerving the truck in the process as well, and Murphy sat up and sputtered, yanking the wheel back straight. Connor continued to stare as Murphy steered. "So ya _did_ get a hand down?"

"Watch tha fuckin' road," Murphy cursed. "An' no…not exactly…"

Connor cackled, clearly giddy with his brother's slight discomfort. "Did ya palm her tits?" He looked back to the road.

"Not this time," Murphy said very quietly, as images from the last weekend fluttered through his mind. His hand slid from the wheel.

"Eh?" Connor asked, turning to Murphy once more.

"Jesus, Conn, yer gonna get us both killed b'fore we even get there!"

Connor scowled and looked back to the road. "Lord's fuckin' name," he scolded, pointing his cigarette at Murphy. He didn't even wait for his brother's penance and instead continued his badgering. "C'mon, tell me what happened," he practically whined.

"Quit yer bellyachin'," Murphy growled. He looked out the window and took a deep breath, feeling a smug smile come to his face. "Gave me a hand job," he said gently, as if he were speaking of the weather.

"Are ya fuckin' serious?" Connor screeched, cranking hard on the wheel once more.

"All right, stop tha fuckin' truck," Murphy snapped, tugging the wheel over and glaring at his brother. "Right now."

Connor hastily obeyed and turned in his seat, gaping at his brother. "Yer serious," Connor repeated, though this time as a statement. "Holy Mary, Mother o'God…was it good?"

Murphy chuckled softly and leaned back into the seat. "Fuckin' insane," he muttered dreamily. "Y'know Ginny Malone?"

Connor nodded enthusiastically. Ginny Malone was _known_ for her hand job talent.

Murphy lifted one shoulder casually. "Doesn't hold a candle ta Márín."

"Fuck me, I've got ta get me an older woman," Connor vowed, shoving his spent cigarette out the window.

Murphy shot Connor a sidelong glance. "Aye, well, be sure an' find yer _own_," Murphy warned. He knew all too well of Connor's habit of hitting on Murphy's girlfriends, not that he really minded. If the girl took the bait, he usually cut things off with her because clearly she was interested in more than one guy at a time. But he drew the line at Connor even thinking of attempting anything with Márín.

"Wouldn't _dream_ of it," Connor said with a smirk.

"Fuckin' kick yer arse if ya do."

Connor chuckled nefariously. "Think she'd say yes if I asked her ta dance?"

"I'll break yer face," Murphy countered.

"Sure ya will," Connor winked, glancing at his brother with another smile.

Murphy glared at his brother's profile, knowing that he'd just issued a challenge to his brother. "Jesus Christ," he cursed as he looked back out the window.

Connor smirked from where he sat. "Lord's fuckin' name."

* * *

I finished in the bathroom and pulled the door open a fraction, poking my head out. I breathed a sigh of relief when I didn't spot Mike anywhere, and dashed back up the hall and out the front doors of the school. The rain had grown even heavier, and the air was cool. I moved to one side and dug out a cigarette and lit it, and watched as the parking lot began to fill.

Most of the cars pulled right up in front of the doors and spilled their contents: girls in dresses, all colors, all sizes, shapes, squealing half in excitement and half at the fact that they had to hurdle the sizeable puddle that was forming. I felt somewhat nostalgic for my own formal, which hadn't been a total bust, but my dress had been god awful – peach chiffon with an empire waist. I didn't even want to think about what my hair was doing. I smiled to myself and watched now as two more girls jumped out of a sleek, silver Aston Martin, and ducked under the awning a few feet away from me.

The brunette lit a cigarette immediately, and fussed with her elaborate curls as her redheaded friend pulled a compact from her purse and checked her makeup.

"When did they say they'd be here?" the redhead asked, focused on her lipstick.

The brunette blew out a stream of smoke. "Seven." She checked the dainty watch on her wrist. "Just past, now."

"And they're meeting us out here?" The redhead's voice seemed to hitch with urgency, and she began craning her neck, scanning the parking lot.

The brunette laughed at her friend's antics. "Katie, relax. Murphy will be here – he can't stand you up, he's coming with Connor."

The smoke I'd just inhaled came out in a choked cough as I heard Murphy and Connor's names. Trying my best to stifle my hacking, I quickly turned away as the redhead, confirmed now as Katie Hanigan, turned a narrowed gaze my way.

I dared to look back. Her eyes widened a fraction, clearly recognizing me from Murphy's baseball game, and just as quickly as she had looked at me, she spun back to her friend – who, by process of elimination was obviously Molly Macklemore - and caught her arm, dragging her a few more feet away. They muttered to each other heatedly for a moment, and Molly suddenly looked in my direction. She looked me up and down and then turned back to Katie, shrugged, and mumbled something in reply.

I sucked back the rest of my cigarette as quickly as possible, wanting to put some distance between us. I wasn't scared of her, but of her perception of me, and my relationship to Murphy. All I needed was a scorned teenage girl watching my every move. After all, I knew how they worked; every woman was once a scorned teenage girl. As I pitched my cigarette aside, a huge splash, followed by squeals and horns honking sounded over the driving rain, and Katie, Molly, and I looked to see an old model truck careening into the parking lot. Whoever was driving it didn't bother finding a spot, merely abandoned it where it stopped, and two figures hopped out and hurried across the lot.

"Christ on tha cross, Connor, ya wonder why Da won't let ya drive tha Martin!" Molly laughed as Connor ducked under the awning, followed by Murphy who was rubbing the rain from his dark hair. "Hiya, Murph," Molly greeted next.

Murphy grinned at the brunette. "Hey, Molly." He quickly fished out his cigarettes and as he leaned forward for the lighter that Connor held out, his eyes swept over the other people collecting there and then landed on me.

He stood straight, and for some reason seemed surprised to see me. Then, a small smile touched his lips and he bit down on the bottom one, brushing past Molly to come closer to me.

"Hello," he greeted, crooked grin in place.

I couldn't help but smile back as I looked up at him. "Hello, Murphy."

We didn't say anything else, just stood there gaping at each other as Murphy's cigarette burned down and Connor, Molly, and Katie gawked. I could see a red tie peeking out of Murphy's jacket, paired with a black dress shirt and slacks. My formal date never looked so good. I thought this might be awkward after that afternoon, but I found that one again, I had missed him in his absence, and it was more than just the physical intimacy. A connection had been made, I realised, and when it had happened, sparks had flown. Just standing near him made my body hum.

A shrill voice broke through our enchantment. "_Hi_, Murphy," Katie growled.

We both looked in her direction, and Murphy shifted and quickly stepped towards her, his hand on the back of his neck. "Oh, hey, Katie," he replied casually, standing next to Connor.

Katie glared up at Murphy for a second, and then turned her dark little eyes on me once more. With a huff, she grabbed Molly and dragged her towards the door and disappeared into the school.

"What's her problem?" Connor muttered, clearly ignorant of the female psyche.

Murphy shrugged and looked to me. I threw a pointed glance back at him as if to say, _You know damn well what her problem is_.

Murphy sighed. "C'mon, before she's even more pissed at me," he growled, catching Connor's shoulder and tugging him inside.

I followed a few minutes later, wanting to keep my distance, and approached the coat check, noticing Mike standing with another chaperone I recognized as Murphy's baseball coach. I ducked in behind the desk and shrugged out of my jacket and hung it up, and then moved near Mike so I could ask him where he wanted me.

"Hey, yer back," Mike said as I turned to gather my purse. "Wow," he muttered, catching a glimpse of the back of my dress. "Ya look…"

I stood up and met his gaze while he blinked, clearly at a loss for words. It would have been flattering from anyone else who _wasn't_ an English Lit teacher. He shifted and tried again. "Ya look…"

"_Féach leat mar bhrionglóid_," Murphy's husky drawl rolled over me.

Mike and I looked at him, and I watched Connor give his brother a wide-eyed look as Katie and Molly stood by, clearly confused by his use of Gaelic. _Damn shame it was a dying language_, one part of my brain thought sarcastically.

The other part told it to shut up and translated what Murphy had said: _You look like a dream_.

I melted. I fucking _melted_, right there, although I fought to keep composure. Mike clearly didn't know the language; the only other person who knew what Murphy had said was Connor, and he looked like he didn't believe his brother had just said it. I didn't care. Murphy kept his gaze connected with mine a moment more, his small smile (which I was beginning to think of as _my_ smile) hanging on his lips once more before he turned to Mike and his coach and greeted them.

* * *

"What did ya say ta her?" Katie snipped as she walked next to Murphy. They were following Connor and Molly into the gym, and every step Murphy took felt like a chore.

"Nothin'. Told her it was nice ta see her." He replayed the look on Márín's face when she realized what he'd said, and realized that the moment he saw her, he didn't give a flying fuck about his rosary.

Katie glanced up at him. "You _know_ her?"

Murphy shrugged and held the door open, gesturing for Katie to go inside. "Aye. That's Father McMahon's sister-in-law."

"I thought his brother died," Katie pointed out with a frown.

Murphy's brow furrowed. "He did. So what?"

Katie sighed and tossed her strawberry curls. "Whatever." She pushed her shoulders back and looked Murphy up and down as they took a seat at one of the tables pushed to the side of the dance floor. "Ya look very handsome."

"Ah…thanks. Ya look pretty," he countered with a nod. Her dress was some shiny material, a bright turquoise that made her hair seem even redder, and there was a giant bow on the back of it. She did look pretty, he wasn't lying. He just wasn't interested at all. He flicked his gaze back to the door for a moment.

"Here," Molly piped up. She stretched her arm across the table and Murphy looked down, seeing a sizeable flash of silver in the spinning overhead lights.

"Fuck, Moll, th'dance has barely started!" Connor chuckled. Still, he intercepted the pass to Murphy and snatched the flask up, twisting it open and taking a few healthy sips. He slid it over to Katie to took a pull, and then handed it to Murphy.

"Ya need ta relax," Katie reasoned. "Ya seem...tense."

Connor choked on his next breath and shot a pointed look to Murphy. "Aye…thought ya said ya had some time ta…relax, t'day, Murph." His blue eyes twinkled mischievously.

Murphy flipped his brother off and took the flask Katie offered, taking a few sips. He replaced the cap and swirled the contents, frowning at the almost empty state. "That didn't last long."

Beside him, Katie giggled, and reached into the front of her dress. "Don't worry," she smiled, pulling another flask up enough so that the silver case caught his eye. "I've got ya covered."

"Aye," Murphy answered with discomfort. That was the _last_ thing he wanted from Katie. Christ, this was getting out of hand. What had Márín said? Let her down easily? Just about everything abut Katie was difficult. "Ah…"

"Let's dance," Molly suddenly blurted out, standing and grabbing onto Connor's hand. "C'mon, Murph, Katie. This is our last dance here, aye? Gotta make those memories we'll look back upon when we're old and thirty!"

Murphy stood reluctantly and followed his brother and the two girls to the dance floor. He was thankful for the faster-paced tunes; he always felt like a bit of a lug swaying to some sappy love song. When the songs changed and the first _rat-a-tat-tat_ of U2's Sunday, Bloody Sunday blasted over the speakers, the crowd went wild and ambushed the dance floor. This was a little better – it was more like hopping around in one big group, instead of being roped with one particular person.

Of course, the song itself only lasted about four and half minutes, and soon enough it wound down into the dreaded love song. The students began pairing off and soon Murphy was faced with Katie, wrapped in shiny turquoise, a hopeful look on her face. He rubbed the back of his neck again. "Look, Katie…"

"Murphy," she sighed with a roll of her eyes, "it's just dancing. C'mon, I thought we were friends?"

Her words would have been a lot more believable if she hadn't been plastered to his side, her hand curling into his as she batted her long lashes up at him. He nodded. "Aye, right." He glanced back to the gymnasium doors once more before Katie pulled him into a rather non-friend like embrace as the first verse of Cyndi Lauper's Time After Time began. Every move made Katie's dress crinkle – almost _squeak_, and Murphy couldn't help but let his eyes wander over the top of her head.

He saw her then, Márín, standing on the sidelines, looking a mite bored with having to watch over a bunch of rowdy students. And then Mike Flanery moved into view, sidling up next to Márín and leaning down to say something close to her ear. Murphy's hands tightened on Katie's waist and the little redhead made a breathy sigh and managed to nestle a little closer to Murphy. He paid little attention; if she wanted to rub against him like a cat in heat, so be it. Murphy's focus was busy elsewhere.

* * *

"I've been tryin' ta tell ya that ya look wonderful," Mike murmured from where he'd wandered up to my left side. "Really. That dress looks great on ya."

I turned and gave him a friendly smile. "Thanks," I added with a small shrug, before turning to look back at the students. "It's better than tha dress I wore ta my formal."

Mike laughed. "Don't get me started. Christ above, ya should see tha pictures of _me_. Shoulder-length hair and a velvet bowtie a mile wide." He smiled broadly when I looked back up at him. "I think I was channellin' some pipe dream of bein' a professional surfer or somethin'."

"I looked like tha girl that got stood up by Robert Plant," I chuckled fondly.

"Would you like somethin' ta drink? The punch is sub-par, but I think I can liven it up." He opened his suit jacket and motioned to the inside pocket that bulged with a flask.

"Nice example yer settin'," I drawled with a roll of my eyes. "Who did ya nick that off of?"

Mike narrowed his green eyes playfully and closed his jacket. "No foolin' ya, eh? Got it offa Mickey Calhoun. Though, don't feel pity for the little shit, I'm sure he's got five more stashed somewhere in tha school. Whadya say?"

"I say 'yes' ta punch, but I think I'll hold off on tha whiskey fer tha time bein'," I replied.

Mike shrugged and then motioned to the refreshments. As I turned to lead the way, his hand fell to the small of my back, his thumb drawing a cool line over the skin at the very depth of the plunging fabric. I skittered away and shot him an uneasy glance. He merely looked back at me like he hadn't done anything wrong.

We took our cups of overly-sweet punch and left the noise of the gym. As it was nearing eight, we made way for the coat check and I sat on the desk, one leg crossed over the other, while Mike sat in a chair and upended the flask over his cup.

"Ya still wear yer wedding ring."

I choked on the sip of punch I'd just taken and wiped the back of my mouth with my hand in a very unladylike move. "Excuse me?"

Mike shrugged. "It's just, I thought Joe died at Christmas. It's May…" he trailed off as I shifted my gaze to him, "don't you think it's time ya…"

My eyes narrowed sharply. "Time I _what_?"

Mike shrugged again. "Time ya moved on?"

"I'm sorry," I bit out as I slid from the table. "I didn't realize there was a time limit for mourning yer dead spouse."

He drained his punch and pulled the flask back out, unscrewing the cap once more and taking a healthy swig. "There isn't…I mean… it's just…"

I glared at him incredulously.

He shook his head and threw me an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't be sayin' anythin'. I mean, I suppose it's a big step that ya came out wit' me t'night."

"Oh my _god_, yer a dick," I muttered, pulling the hem of my dress straight and preparing to take off towards the gym. I whirled back to him, my argument cementing in my mind. "An' I'm not 'out wit ya', Mike, I'm doin' a favour fer Colin. So if you'll excuse me, I've got some chaperonin' ta do." I stalked down the hall and yanked open the double doors of the gym, the first strains of 99 Luftballoons pouring over me.

* * *

Murphy had seen her leave with Mr. Flanery, but he hadn't been able to do anything about it. What could he have done? Chased after the pair until he caught up? Then what? He bristled at the thought of Márín being alone with Flanery. He liked his English teacher well enough, but to the girls of his school, Mike Flanery was a fox. Murphy wrinkled his nose at the thought. There'd even been rumours going around that Flanery had been transferred out of Dublin for indiscretions with a student, but they were unfounded as of yet. Still, Flanery was good looking, and drove a fancy car. And, he was older – at least Márín's age. Murphy frowned as he wandered back to the table he shared with his brother and their dates. Katie and Molly had disappeared, no doubt to haunt the girls' bathroom and gossip about who wore what to the dance.

And then suddenly, there she was, standing at the sidelines, her posture stiff and her teeth biting at her lips. It was a far cry from her usual relaxed state. The only time she looked like this was when something – or some_one_ – had bothered her. He watched her right hand flutter repeatedly over her left and he couldn't help the urge to go to her, to see if she was okay. Standing from the table, he began making his way across the floor.

* * *

"So, d'ya dance?"

I jumped at the voice just over my shoulder and turned quickly to see Connor MacManus standing beside me, a small grin quirking his lips.

"Uh…sometimes," I answered, giving him a curious look. "You?"

He nodded, looking back to the writhing mass of students going nuts to the song. "Aye."

"Well…why aren't ya out there?"

Connor's smirk grew as he leaned in. "Me date is in tha bathroom. Probably be there for the next three songs at least." He made a show of looking around, as if searching for a date to claim me. "What about you?"

I laughed ruefully. "Nobody asked," I quipped, my mouth pressed into a hard line.

"Oh, well, don't want ta be rude," Connor decided as he moved in front of me and offered me his hand. "Márín," he addressed rather formally, "would ya care ta dance with me?"

I blinked and shook my head fondly at his antics. "Oh, Connor, I really don't think…"

"Murph said ya think too much," Connor revealed, reaching out and grabbing my hand. "And it's just a dance." He hauled me out onto the floor and moved me to face him before drawing his hands back and holding them up in a placating manner. "See? Won't even touch ya." He winked and leaned in again. "Unless, ya want me to?"

I groaned at his lack of finesse, but I had to smile. He was just as charming as Murphy, albeit in a different way. "Keep yer hands to yerself," I muttered with a roll of my eyes. "Just dance, yeah?"

Connor laughed and we began moving. He wasn't bad for a guy, and he did look rather dashing as he spun around in his Bond-inspired tuxedo. I let my eyes wander over the crowd, trying to find that long, lean body I'd been thinking about. Suddenly, I spotted him right where I'd stood only moments ago, and he was watching me dance with his brother with a bemused grin.

"He threatened to break me face if I asked ya t'dance," Connor said in my ear as he moved past me. "I thought it was worth riskin' a bloody nose." He grinned and spun me around, and I couldn't help but laugh.

Quickly looking back to Murphy. The bemused grin hadn't left, but it had been joined by a cocked eyebrow. "I think he's too chicken shit ta ask ya," Connor continued as he shuffled towards me.

I gave him a wry grin and caught his hand, pulling him towards me. "Why don't we just drop tha charade? I know ya have some idea as to what's goin' on with me an' yer brother."

Connor didn't miss a beat, merely continued dancing, throwing in a shrug as if it were part of his moves. "Aye, so? He's a good man," Connor remarked. "He'll do right by ya," he added, not so covertly letting his glance slip to where he held onto my left hand, my wedding band in plain view.

The sick twist in my guts I felt when Mike spoke of my previous marriage wasn't there, but it still made me falter. Luckily, Connor had enough grace for the both of us and wound down until we were both on the sidelines and Murphy was approaching us. "Talk ta him," Connor murmured in my ear. "He's a good listener." Then, the fairer twin was gone and Murphy was standing before me, hand in pocket.

"Y'all right?" he started, taking a step into my space and reaching out to lay a hand on my wrist. He hesitated, looking down to what he was doing, and quickly looked back to me. He snatched his hand back and stuffed it in his pockets, and then glanced about the gym. "Saw ya talkin' wit' Mr. Flanery." He was hedging, no doubt dying to know just what had transpired in the ten minutes I'd disappeared with his English teacher.

"Aye," I answered slowly, watching as his eyes landed everywhere but on me.

"What did he say t'ya?" Murphy's blue eyes suddenly cut to me and pinned me in place, making it impossible to look anywhere else.

I opened and closed my mouth, not really wanting to talk about it – especially not here, in a gymnasium full of teenagers bopping around to the Clash. "It's nothin'…"

"Bullshit," Murphy snapped, stepping closer. "He said somethin' to ya – only reason why you'd storm back in here. I saw ya, aye?"

I quickly looked to the crowded dance floor and then back to Murphy. "Don't do this. Not here, Murph. This is supposed to be a fun evenin' fer ya."

The warmth of his hand surprised me, closing about my own fingers and pulling me even closer to him. He leaned down and for one brief moment, panic flared in my stomach at the thought he might try to kiss me. Honestly, I wouldn't put it past him – passion seemed to drive Murphy and when it consumed him, he had a very one-track mind. But instead, he merely lowered his voice and stared deep into my eyes. "Well, m'not havin' fun cuz tha girl I want ta be wit' was dancin' wit me brudder," he began. "An' there's somethin' botherin' her but she's too damn proud t'admit it." Here, he raised an eyebrow. "So, I'm not havin' a good time. Yer not havin' a good time. Let's get tha fuck outta here and go somewhere else."

* * *

He watched as she weighed her options, stealing glances left and right, but the reality was, Murphy knew no one was really interested in what was happening _off_ the dance floor – no one but him, anyway. He felt her twist her fingers in his, pulling him towards her even though her eyes were wary.

"You don't know how good that sounds right about now," Márín sighed.

Murphy grinned and turned her hand over, and felt the solid band of her wedding band beneath his thumb. His gaze never wavered, but Márín suddenly pulled her hand from his, and she blinked up at him, as if waking from a dream. She didn't say anything, merely shook her head and pushed past Murphy, back towards the doors leading out into the hallway.

Fuck if he was going to let her get away that easily. He waited a beat, and then followed, the double doors opening, throwing the blaring music down the empty hall, and then swinging shut until only the echoes of bass and lyrics could be heard.

"Márín," he called, his voice sounding hoarse. He lightly jogged to catch her up.

She didn't turn around, but kept walking, and held up a hand as if to say she didn't want to hear about it. Murphy shook his head. He was done with her getting her way, avoiding his questions and the obvious elephant in the room. That wedding band on her finger was like a lead weight; it was a shackle, and it tied her to something that she didn't have use for. She slid through the side door at the coat check, and took up position behind the booth, sinking down into a chair. Her green eyes stared straight ahead, and stared right through him as he approached the bench. He studied her, unsure of where to start, just knowing that he _needed_ to.

She did the work for him.

"I met Joe right out of college."

Murphy leaned back slightly, taking up a passive stance, and tilted his head as Márín began to talk, twisting the band on her finger as she did.

"Everybody loved him, yeah? He was a people person, easy ta get along with, loyal, compassionate, patient, funny, intelligent…a catch, a real catch, me mother told me. We didn't date, not in tha traditional sense. No butterflies in tha stomach when he called. No jitters before goin' over ta his place, or meetin' him at tha pub, or goin' to a show at tha _Shipyard_. He was easy." Márín paused and the ghost of a fond smile passed over her face. "He was comfortable."

Murphy didn't move, afraid that it would pull Márín out of wherever she was going.

Her smile turned rueful and she glanced down at her left hand before tucking it under her bicep, crossing her arms over her chest as she leaned back in the chair. "An' then…" She frowned, scowling at the floor as she thought about her next words. "An' then _you_ come along an' throw everythin' I thought I knew about everythin' I thought I had right out tha bloody window."

Murphy took a breath, but he really didn't have words to say. He thought he should say _something_, but he didn't know what. Márín seemed to be on a roll.

* * *

"I mean, how fucked is this?" I lamented, leaning forward and holding my forehead. "Aye, a right sad sight, as it were. Thirty two and widowed an' makin' time wit' a guy half me age." The events of the past weeks, and especially that morning came crashing over me, threatening to suck me down deeper than I thought I could go. I shook my head, feeling like I was rambling. "It doesn't make any sense," I continued, going for broke. I mean, what better time to get dramatic than at a high school dance? I was too fucking high at my own to even consider having a bad time. It was some kind of sick do-over, complete with a shitty 'date' and the boy I wish I could have gone with. "You…an' me…" I took a deep breath and then looked up at Murphy, who stood very still, his gaze intense. "Fuck, Murphy, why _me_?"

He blinked slowly, and for a moment I wondered if I had spoken in some other language; that he hadn't really understood my question. Then, he barked a laugh, loud and incredulous, and he shook his head as he leaned his hands down on the desk. "Are ya serious?"

I groaned, standing and moved to the desk, leaning against it as well, so that our hips were as foot and a half apart, but our faces were mere inches away. "Murphy," I sighed, unable to keep my hands from him. I cupped his jaw, slid one hand back over his hair, feeling my guts clench at the look in his eyes. "This is…"

His hands came up, pressing against mine, holding me there for a moment, and then slid down my arms, up over my shoulders and my neck, until he mirrored the hold I had on him. "This is new," he breathed. "New fer both of us. Don't think yer tha only one on the rollercoaster."

He let his hands fall and pulled away from me, only to clamber up over the desk. I chuckled at his antics and moved so that he wouldn't trample me in his rush to get closer. When he had right himself and was standing there, with nothing separating us, he took up my hands once more. "An' ta answer yer first question – _why_ you? Lord above, why _wouldn't_ it be you? Yer intelligent, an' yer sweet, an' funny, an'…an' ya just make me…" He trailed off with a helpless shrug. "I know what I want ta say, but…I don't think this is tha time _or_ tha place."

Was this what it was supposed to be like? My heart and my head were spinning out of control and I didn't know which end was up. I felt faint looking up at him, his face so open, so honest, and I wanted nothing more than to just disappear…with him, from this place. I shifted in my heels, stumbling a bit, and he swooped in a caught me, hauling me up into his arms. I automatically clung to him like it was second nature, wrapping myself around his shoulders, pressing up onto my toes to bring myself to his height as much as I possibly could.

"Dance wit' me?" he murmured, looking down into my eyes, one hand rising to push the wild waves of my hair from my face. His other hand slid down over the open back of my dress, smoothing over skin, bringing electricity to every never he skittered over.

I opened my mouth to protest at such a silly thing. Here? In the coat check? It was so quiet I could almost hear my heart beating. Then, there it was, liquid synthesizer, a low beat, mellow tones, and the haunting lyrics wrapped up in Sting's voice. The song echoed perfectly through the empty halls and I wondered briefly if the playlist for the dance had been OK'd by a staff member that had no idea what half of these songs meant. Murphy's confident touch brought me back to the moment, pressed there against him, and my eyes closed as we turned in a world completely our own.

* * *

She let him hold her close, and he tilted his head down as they swayed, and pressed his nose into her hair. She felt amazing against him, around him, in his arms, beneath his fingertips. Nothing else mattered but her at that moment. Somehow, he knew she was just as baffled by this thing as he was. They were in it together, warped and out of control, and he didn't want it to ever stop. Briefly, he registered the music blaring louder, clearer, and heard a door thump shut somewhere, but he just couldn't be bothered.

Katie had seen him leave – she'd seen everything, actually: that woman talking first to Mr. Flanery, and then leaving, and then coming back in a snit. That woman, dancing with Connor, letting him spin her around like she was some high school prom queen. That _woman_, catching Murphy's eye and leaving with him, and not coming back at all. With a sneer of determination, she left Molly and Connor to dance to _Wrapped Around Your Finger_ by the Police, and stormed out of the gym. She didn't have to go far to find them, and she should have stopped, not gone any further, but she needed to _see_, needed to know that Murphy had sloughed her off in favour of _that_ woman.

So there they were, twirling without a fucking care for _anything_. There he was, holding onto her like some anchor in a storm, her hands sliding through the thick dark hair that brushed his collar, his hands skimming over her slender body wrapped up in a dress that didn't belong at a function like this. It made her sick, watching this, after everything she'd done to just get him to _notice_ her, acknowledge her, see her as something more than just a friend.

See her as he obviously saw that _woman_. Something to be had by him. Something to be desired by him. Her heart crept into her throat as his nose buried in her long, perfectly waving _blonde_ hair, that dress short enough to cause a scandal. Katie swallowed the burning acidity of rejection, but choked on it just the same, and narrowed her dark eyes. She crept back the way she came, her eyes never straying from the couple until the doors leading into the gym were at her back. She gripped the handle, watching the pair as they danced, so obviously fucking romantic and oblivious to everything.

"Hell hath no fury, Murphy MacManus," Katie muttered as she pushed against the door. She was already pulling the flask from her dress as she barrelled across the dance floor, heading to the girls' washroom.


	10. Chapter 10

_A/N: This would have been a very disappointing cluster fuck of elements without the help of Valerie E Mackin. Thank you love, this one is for you!_

_Got a little heavy with the Irish slang this go around, but I think the message comes across. It's so much fun to use! The whiskey that the girls are drinking is an actualy brand from Ireland; I chose 'Old Comber' as Comber is a family name and there' s not much history on that side of the family. Anyway, enjoy, and if you're lucky and find that little button down there, and press it, and be nice, I give ya something sweet next weekend. _

_The reference to the 'backwards dress' is a nod to my father and his ridiculousness. When seeing a beautiful woman in a backless dress, he always says to my mom, 'honey, look, she's got her dress on backwards!'. LOL. I love my dad!_

**_Just hopped on twitter recently, so if you feel like it, follow me at Reeduffery_**

* * *

I didn't know how long it had been since the song ended. The only things on my mind were how warm and solid Murphy was, how he held me with a heady combination of fierce protection and gentle regard, and how I could taste whiskey on his breath as I looked up into impossibly blue eyes.

"Murph?" I asked very gently, dropping the second syllable of his name and trying out the nickname on my tongue.

"Aye?" He smiled.

"Kiss me quick, before I change my mind."

We ended up crashing into one of the many cubbies that held coats. Tucked between letterman jackets and fancy trenches borrowed from mothers, Murphy swallowed the loud groan I heaved as his tongue swept through my mouth. His hands skimmed my sides before picking me up by my thighs and pinning me against the flimsy pressboard that made up the cubby. He wedged himself between my knees, locking our groins together, and proceeded to emulate a level of love-making no boy his age should have knowledge of. In the frenzy of twisting hips and clasping thighs, his belt buckle scored me on the inside of my knee, making me hiss and pull my lips from his.

He blinked, unaware of the scratch. "Y'okay?"

When I didn't answer further than setting my head against the temporary wall behind me and yanking him closer by his shirt, he dipped his head once more and proceeded to kiss me with wild abandon, his hips banging away against mine. I felt like a kid again, excited at the hesitant touches and embraces, emboldened by his stark reactions, and the murmured exchange of exclamations that floated up from the both of us.

"Christ, ya feel good," Murphy growled, hitching me agains the cubby wall and sliding his hands my dress.

"Lord's name," I muttered softly, grinning as he fixed me with a smirk. My fingers combed back through his hair and pulled at his shoulders.

"Aye, aye," he groaned, thumbs digging into my hipbones. "Sure I can't have me birthday present early?" he purred. His mouth slipped down from mine, trailing soft kisses along my jaw as his fingers bunched the hem of my dress up my thighs.

I shook my head, squeezing my eyes shut as his fingers traced the back of my thighs and gripped the bare flesh of my ass. His breath hitched as his fingers explored, and he lifted his head from my collarbone to stare at me with heat and wonder.

"Are ya not wearing knickers?" he asked lightly, tracing his fingertips over the sensitive flesh he'd found.

"Barely," I replied, reaching for his tie and pulling the knot free. My fingers pulled the first button of his shirt open and then, frustrated, headed south and hooked over his belt buckle. As I yanked him into me, I rolled my hips, causing him to moan breathlessly. The skin of his collarbones and his throat did something to me; that vulnerable spot of flesh made me almost rabid, and I sought it out with my lips and teeth, scraping along the tendons and bones.

At first, he paused, swallowing hard against my lips and teeth until finally he groaned and tangled his fingers into my hair. Pulling me back, he licked his lips, kissed me again, and then pulled away, panting. He held me up then, one hand pinning my hips against the wall, and the other dropping between my thighs as his held my gaze with his. The tips of his fingers brushed against the flimsy fabric covering me, and in the next second, he pressed firmly against my clit and rubbed a small circle.

"Ah!" My fingers clutched his belt harder as my hips rocked into his hand. "Murphy, please," I heard myself beg. I wanted him, all of him, right then and there, and I knew things were close to spinning out of control. I didn't care. I didn't want to care. "More," I begged, reaching between us and pushing my panties aside. I hadn't realised how on edge I was until his lips had landed on mine. Thoughts of that afternoon, of him coming undone beneath me spurred me on, the look on his face, the heat in his eyes. I held his gaze as his fingers hesitantly moved once more, this time pulsing where I needed him most.

* * *

Before it registered in his brain, his fingers were slipping through Márín's wet heat, stroking over smooth flesh, catching the bundle of nerves with two fingertips and pulling it away from her body. It made her cry out again, that breathy sound that made his balls tingle. White heat pulsed and settled low between his hips as he stared at her, pushing boundaries he hadn't dared to before. She let him touch her, pushing his hand against her as she rocked her hips and sought some modicum of relief.

She arched sharply against the cubby, whining as he worked her, and he scrambled to remember everything he'd picked up in his limited sexual experience. "Tell me," he rasped, rolling frantic circles over the hard button of flesh that grew slicker with each pass. "Tell me what ta do," he continued. He didn't have time to fuck around, to play 'how does this feel'. That wasn't what she wanted, he knew that now. She needed a release like she'd given him; she needed to use him and he would gladly let her. He'd have time to explore later.

The hand that had clutched his belt so firmly shot out, slamming against the side of the cubby, and she reasserted her position in his hands. Gulping a breath, she guided his hand once more, sliding her fingers along his, and moving his hand down. "Yer fingers," she gasped. "Inside," she directed, and suddenly his forefinger wrapped around hers and together, they slipped inside of tight, drenched heat and Murphy shuddered and paused as Márín sighed and rolled her hips once. "Yes," she nodded frantically. "God, Murphy, right _there_."

Murphy was fascinated by her reaction, his eyes flickering everywhere as he stroked the tip of his finger inside of her. She showed him what she liked, guiding him along smooth, clenching muscles until he picked up the rhythm and Márín withdrew, sighing as he instinctively knew to press inside once more with two fingers. Her face was pure pleasure, her mouth open and moaning hotly as he slipped his fingers in and out, building pressure and speed and friction. He pushed his mouth against hers again, lashing his tongue over hers, knowing that he'd never be able to get enough of her after this. The first time he'd made her come he hadn't expected it, hadn't known that she'd edged that far just from him touching her breasts. Now she was back on that edge, her green eyes bright and sparkling as she gaped up at him, gasping and grasping, her fingers curling into his forearm as his fingers sank deeper.

Her hips suddenly canted up and forward into his hand and she jerked againt his fingers frantically as another round of breathless panting floated around him. He was sweating, he could feel it on his forehead, his upper lip, as he worked harder to bring her to completion.

"Murph!"

His name echoed around him in a harsh whisper. The voice was familiar, but not the one he expected. Shaking it aside, he bent his head and watched as her fingers slid down and around her clit, helping him with his task.

"_Muprhy_!" Márín's voice was frantic and he kissed her again, unable to get enough of her taste into his mouth.

"Murphy!" Louder now. Not Márín's voice. But she was so fucking close. "Murph!" Connor's voice. Shit, _Connor_? Murphy stiffened and yanked his head back, even as his teeth sank into Márín's bottom lip and his fingers withdrew hastily. She stifled a startled yelp and Murphy worriedly looked down. She had tears in her eyes, and he tasted a tang of copper in his mouth.

Connor crashed through the door of coat check seconds later, his hair mussed and his bowtie hanging around one neck. He skidded to a halt as he caught sight of his twin's back, curled protectively over Márín, who was hitched up against a wall, her cheeks flushed. A smirk curled on Connor's lips and he chuckled lowly.

Murphy glared from over his shoulder, and he shifted again, blocking Márín as best he could. "Tha fuck is yer malfunction?"

* * *

The sting of Murphy's teeth startled me, but it was nothing compared to the ache of the screeching halt my orgasm came to as the other MacManus twin barrelled into the coat check. My eyes slid shut and tears of frustration poured over my cheeks. "Fuck," I hissed, clutching Murphy's forearm and holding him still.

"Jesus, you two, not tha best place ta be doin' this," Connor groused as he blatantly catalogued the positon I and his brother were in.

I wiggled uncomfortably in Murphy's hold and closed my eyes as my cheeks flamed.

"Aye, obviously, can't seem ta get away fer five fuckin' minutes," Murphy growled.

Connor didn't budge, still scanning us with wide blue eyes, and Murphy hissed sharply. "Really, Conn? Give us a fuckin' minute, yeah?" His tone was agitated, and I couldn't really blame him.

"All right, cool yer jets, Murph. Pair o'fuckin' horny teenagers if I ever saw one," Connor snorted. He looked to his brother. "Yer…ah…_date_…is currently hurlin' in tha girls' room and spoutin' off 'bout ya. We need ta get her outta here b'fore the teachers find out."

"Fuck me," Murphy breathed, flashing me an apologetic look. He looked back over his shoulder. "Do ya mind?"

"Aye, right," Connor snapped to attention and gave a little bow. "I'll just wait out here," he announced, mischief still lacing his tone. "But hurry up, aye? Don't know how you'd explain _this_," he gestured to where I was still pinned against Murphy, "ta his English teacher." His eyes flashed to mine with a cheeky grin.

The boiling ache of impending orgasm began to wear off and I patted Murphy's shoulder as Connor slid out the door and closed it behind him. "Jesus, when ya said she was gonna be trouble…"

Murphy huffed, clearly still pissed at being interrupted, not that I blamed him. "Aye. Told ya the harpy tricked me."

"An' she's obviously tryin' ta get yer attention." I ran my fingers through my hair.

Murphy licked his lips with a small smirk. "Well, I have been kinda distracted all night." He righted the hem of my dress and let his fingers stroll over the tops of my thighs.

"Yeah, make that two of us. I'm sure Mike will be tellin' Colin what a deplorable chaperone I am. Can't even keep to my post for five minutes."

"What are ya on about? Yer in tha coat check, aren't ya?" He reached for the buttons of his collar but I brushed his hands aside.

"C'mere," I beckoned, pulling the tie free to work on his buttons. The smooth, freckled skin at his throat jarred my memory and I jumped back slightly.

"Your rosary!" I hissed, skating around his grasping hands and diving for where I'd stashed my purse.

"Huh?" he asked, clearly a million miles away.

A loud bang on the side door cut off my sharp cursing as I dug through my purse, and Connor growled a second later. "Today, you two. Flanery was headed this way."

Pulling the strand of beads free I held it up for him with a small smile. "Sorry about that."

He grinned, clutching the beads and my hand in one of his own, and he pulled me forward and kissed me soundly. "Thanks fer keepin' it safe," he murmured, before he slipped it over his head.

He didn't even have time to tuck it into his shirt as Connor wrenched the door open and glared at us. "Stop fuckin' holdin' hands and _get out here_. Márín, ya have ta distract Flanery, aye? Keep him from comin' down the athletic entrance. Murph, I'll bring tha truck around, you get tha Prom Queen ta stop spewin', an' we'll all have a drink when this is over."

"Wait – _what_?" I looked between the two brothers. "What are ya talkin' about?"

Connor grinned like he'd just planned the biggest heist and looked from his brother, to me, and then back to his brother. "Well?" He wiggled his eyebrows. "Go to, go to!" Then he took off down the corridor, leaving me with Murphy.

Murphy raked his hands through his hair and looked me over, making sure I was presentable. "C'mon," he said, taking my hand and pulling me out into the hall. He peered around the corner and then swung back, glancing to me. "Flanery's comin'."

"Murphy, I'm supposed to be chaperoning!" I hissed as his hand culred around mine.

Murphy paused, throwing me an incredulous look. "Are ya fuckin' wit me? I think you've established that chaperonin' isn't yer strong suit, Márín."

I growled at his glib tone and waved him away. "Go. Y'av got five minutes." He nodded and dashed up the hall, leaving me to heave a sigh. "Worst chaperone ever," I muttered before turning the corner and striding right towards Mike.

"Hey," I breathed, smiling broadly. "Look, I'm glad I found ya."

Mike paused where he was stomring down the hall, clearly surprised by not only my sudden appearance, but also what I had just said. "Yes?" He said slowly, unsure of my motives.

I mentally cursed the MacManus twins for making me talk to Mike Flanery again, but it was their only chance to not end up suspended, or worse. _I'm bailing my teenage boyfriend of detention_, my inner voice quipped before I took a breath and began to ramble.

"I'm sorry about earlier, yeah? I mean about when I got upset."

Mike blinked and slowly, a smile spread over his face. "I'm listenin'."

God, he was a smug prick. Murphy was really going to owe me. _And_ Connor. That new fence being built in the church would need to be painted. I looked back to Mike and felt my smile falter at the way he was looking at me.

"I'm not sayin' yer right, an' I'm not sayin' I am, either, but I think…" as I rambled closer to the point I was trying to get across, I realized that Mike Flanery had made me realise something that Jenny had been gently trying to imply for the past five months. "I think there's some validity to your argument. About moving beyond mourning."

Mike's face brightened considerably. "Yeah? Jesus, Márín, the last thing I wanted to do was insult ya or make ya mad. I guess I just don't know how ta proceed."

"Ah…lightly," I said with a shaky laugh. Movement behind Mike caught my attention and I watched as Connor darted through the hallway, only to turn back and gesture erratically at his brother, who was lugging a seven stone girl through the hall with his hand clamped over her mouth. The bright, metallic turquoise of Katie's dress caught in the light as she squirmed and I quickly looked back to Mike. "Let's…just forget this night happened, yeah?" Fuck, I couldn't stop my mouth and Mike's hopeful smile only increased. The knot in my guts did the same.

"So," Mike drawled, and his hand dove into his suit jacket to once more pull his flask free. He took a pull and I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. After all, I was just as bad a chaperone as he was. "Maybe I can take ya out?"

Once more, there was a flurry of action behind Mike and I looked to see Connor at the end of the hall, grinning like an idiot and giving me two thumbs up. "Ah," I looked to Mike. "Ya know what, Mike? I think I heard somethin' about bifters bein' rolled out in the chem lab." I threw a thumb back towards the coat check. "I can hold tha fort down here but…maybe you should go check that out?"

Mike chuckled, shaking his head. "Roman orgy indeed. I'm just surprised I haven't come across anyone getting gropin' in the supply closet."

The ridiculousness of the entire evening threatened to spill over and I bit my lips in an effort to contain my laughter. I nodded and shrugged. "Yeah, well…horny teenagers…an' all that…" I trailed off and looked at Mike expectantly.

"Guess I'll go check that out in the chem lab." Mike held the flask out towards me but I waved it away, and he tucked it back into his coat with a shrug before checking his watch. "Yer shift here is almost done," he smiled. "Ya want to come wit'?"

"Ya know, I think I'm gonna grab a cigarette," I said, scooping my purse up from the desk.

Mike nodded and turned, heading up the hall that Murphy and Connor had traversed only moments before. I dove back behind the desk and grabbed my jacket and pulled it on, and then moved to the front doors and out into the damp night.

* * *

"Jesus wept, Katie, what tha fuck is yer problem?" Murphy muttered as he took survey of the girls' restroom. Most of the students had been cleared out by Connor and Mickey Calhoun – the more students surrounding the situation, the more likely they would be caught.

Katie had slid down the wall of the washroom, her dress bunched up under her knees and her head leaning forward as Molly Macklemore draped another cool, damp lot of paper towels on the back of Katie's neck. Molly shot daggers at Murphy's exclamation before turning back to her best friend.

"I should ask ya tha same thing, Murphy," Molly growled.

Katie effectively cut off Murphy's next words as she suddenly scrambled to her knees and lunged into a stall, her stomach violently heaving once more.

"Oh, come off it, Moll, yer traipsin' around wit' half o' bottle of Old Comber and drinkin' it like it's fuckin' soda. I didn't make her get scuttered."

"Murphy!" Katie's screech echoed through the bathroom, a slur of angered syllables.

Murphy grumbled under his breath and stalked to the toilet, slamming the door open and holding it there with a splayed palm. "_What_," he growled.

Katie giggled, sitting back on her knees and wiping at her mouth. "Dry up," she muttered with another peal of giggles. "Yer such a fuckin'git, ya know that?"

"What are ya on about, Katie?" Murphy sighed.

Katie merely shook her head and propped her elbow up on the toilet seat, cupping her chin and staring at the stall door. Murphy looked back to Molly.

"She saw ya lurchin' wit' dat mingin' blonde in tha backwards dress."

Murphy paused, confused at the last reference. "Eh?"

Molly waved it by. "Somethin' Connor said."

Murphy rolled his eyes and looked back to Katie. "Katie, darlin', look. I'm sorry but ya said we was just friends. So that's what I took it ta mean, aye?"

"Don't fuckin 'Katie darlin' me, Murph," Katie warbled. "I've crushed on ya since tha sixth fuckin' grade – what did ya think I meant when I asked ya to tha dance?"

"That ya wanted ta go as fuckin' friends!" Murphy roared, his head pounding with the roundabout of words spewing from Katie. "Ya want ta yell at me, fine, but not here, aye? We need ta get ya out o'here b'fore someone catches wind that we've all been drinkin', an' that yer a fuckin' mess."

Katie threw a sneer in reply.

"Well, ya are," Murphy huffed before he reached down and caught Katie under her arms. "Up ya go."

Katie's feet scuttled along the tiles as Murphy hauled her to her feet, and she kicked off her heels which Molly scooped up. The redhead clutched at Murphy, curling her fingers into the front of his shirt, and snagging the dangling rosary in the process.

"Sayin' a few Hail Marys after that dance?" Katie bit out, her booze-soured breath hitting Murphy in the face.

He growled and pushed Katie to arm's length, and felt a sharp tug around his neck. Katie's face fell a fraction as she felt the cord of Murphy's rosary pull tight and then snap, and she giggled as beads rattled down over the tiled floor.

"Whoops," she exclaimed flatly, looking to Molly. "Eh, Moll, where's tha fuckin' car? I want ta get tha fuck away from here."

"Fuck, Katie!" Murphy growled, heaving the girl at Molly and catching the broken tail of his rosary. Gently, he pulled the length of it from around his neck and gave a small sigh of relief as the beads stayed intact on that end. He stuffed the works into his pocket and then crouched to the floor, scooping up a handful of beads and scanning for strays. He looked up at Katie and Molly, who watched him with twin expressions of shock.

Katie looked truly ashen, though Murphy was uncertain if it was remorse or Old Comber. A sharp rap sounded on the door then, and Mickey Calhoun peered inside with bleary eyes. "Right, Conn's got tha truck, yeah? Let's go."

"I don't want ta go in tha fuckin' truck," Katie whined, even as Molly steered her to the door.

"Katie, we'll argue logistics later," Molly muttered, coming close to the end of her tether with her friend's drunken antics.

"No," Katie squirmed out of Molly's grasp. "I said I'm not goin' in that fuckin' truck. Smells like a chicken coop an' I'll spew my guts out all over Ma MacManus' fine interior."

Murphy fumed at her bratty tone and closed his eyes briefly as he counted to five. When he opened them again, he said nothing, merely clapped a hand over Katie's mouth and tucked her under his arm, and hauled her out into the hallway. "Keep quiet," he muttered as he steered her through the hall.

"Ah, fine work, brother, but d'ya have ta keep her muzzled?"

Murphy looked up to Connor's voice and felt a flicker of relief. "Spoutin' off cuz she doesn't want ta get in tha truck."

Connor shrugged and glanced at Molly. "Can we take yer car?"

Molly bristled and scowled at Katie. "I don't want her ta throw up."

Connor shook his head, shifting to his most placating tone. "Now, lass, it'll be all right, yeah? I'll drive extra slow, an' we'll keep tha windows open. Sides, it's still rainin'. If she throws up out tha window, it'll wash off by mornin'."

Despite her ruined evening, Molly smiled sweetly at Connor. "At least one o'ya is considerate."

Connor pursed his lips and looked to Murphy with a roll of his eyes. He switched to Gaelic. "_Fuck, she's got nerve. Whatever, ya goin' after Márín? I think she was fixin' ta leave_." He handed the truck keys to Murphy. "_Saw her headin' to her car_."

"Fuck," Murphy uttered in English. "Aye, evenin's fuckin' banjaxed beyond repair. I'll see ya when I see ya," Murphy offered as a farewell, parting ways with Connor and climbing into the truck. He tore around to the front car lot in time to see Father McMahon's Volkswagen peel out of the drive, and head towards the west side of town. Murphy threw the truck into gear and followed.

* * *

Ballyhue Moors was more or lest a tourist site, but this late at night on a Saturday, in the driving rain, it was pleasantly deserted. I pulled into the empty car lot and parked under an overhanging bunch of rowan. The raindrops that fell from the leaves thudded loudly on the roof, and I clicked on the radio before leaning my head back on the seat.

That night was decidedly _fucked_. I did a quick run down, marvelling at the range of emotions I had just experienced. I felt completely drained, used up, and my brain was aching. I reached for my purse.

A few minutes later, a pleasant haze surrounded me, and I giggled when I realized I'd just hot boxed in Colin's car. With another sheepish snort, I rolled the window down and sighed as cool air wafted in. I closed my eyes and turned my attention to the music on the radio.

I saw the flash of headlights through my eyelids and I sat up, glancing through the back window. The song on the radio had changed, but the rain was still pounding, so I knew I'd only wandered off for a few minutes. I watched as an old farm truck – the MacManus farm truck – trundle over the wet gravel and come to a smooth stop beside me. The chassis lurched and squeaked as the driver moved around inside, and then the passenger window on the truck was opening, and Murphy leaned out.

"Hey," he called with a bit of a nod. "That shit legal?"

"Fuck you," I droned with a fond grin. "After that night, it think it's deserved."

Murphy nodded and glanced out the windshield. "Aye, aye. Can't argue that." He looked back at me with a raised eyebrow. "Ya wanna talk s'more?"

I shrugged. "Aye." Gathering my purse and the car keys, I slid out of Colin's car. I pinched the joint off and and hopped up into the truck.

The seats were high and bouncy, characteristics of old trucks, and there was a crack through the windshield. A hand-carved wooden cross dangled from the rearview, the upholstery was worn tweed and cracked naugahyde, and the it smelled like stale straw. Defintely a farm vehicle. I grinned and sank into the seat, setting the roach on the dashboard in a very precise manner.

"You all right?' Murphy drawled, a small chuckle in his voice.

"M'fine," I breathed. I gave him a playful glare. "Hey, _you_ were drinkin' whiskey. Girl's gotta relax somehow."

Murphy blushed and looked away, and I watched as his fingers rubbed and pulled at the leg of his slacks. "Ah, yeah," he breathed lowly. "About that…"

"What about it?" I challenged.

It was dark in the truck, but I knew he was blushing. I couldn't get over the strange, erotic dichotomy of Murphy – strong and physically confident in one moment, and blushing and almost disturbingly innocent at the next. When he'd begged me to tell him what to do back in the coat check, I'd unravlled like a snagged sweater.

"I, uh…" he paused, glancing at his hands, and then looked back to me, tip of his tongue pressed to his upper lip. "I really wanted ta make ya come."

"Oh," I breathed as his voice slid right through me. My heart thrummed wildly as my skin came alive, wanting his hands on me that very second. I took a breath and blinked at him. "Oh," I repeated dumbly.

He smiled beautifully then, my smile, that almost afterthought of curved lips.

"Loose the stop of your throat," I murmured.

"Not words, not music or rhyme I want…not custom or lecture, not even the best, only the sound that I like, the hum of your valved voice." Murphy finished, his tone dropping to a deep, long register that made every smooth, clenching muscle inside vibrate.

He'd tongue fucked me, and I hadn't even taken my panties off.

I nodded with a shiver. "Aye."

He smirked. "If I keep talkin', will it make ya come?" he asked lightly with a devilish grin.

I sighed, the moment lost, and smacked him in the shoulder. "Ass."

He chuckled and swivelled in his seat, facing out the windshield once more. "Fuck, I like pushin' yer buttons."

"I'm sure," I growled fondly, turning to face the windshield as well.

We fell into an amicable silence for a spell.

"So, tell me what ya want fer yer birthday," I aksed, turning to look at Murphy.

He grinned at me. "Ya really hafta ask?"

"Besides that – an' I'm not promisin' anythin' in that regard."

"So, besides having amazing sex wit' you?" He continued without batting an eye, ignoring my idle threat. "Connor n' I are gettin' tattoos on Wednesday afternoon in Dublin."

"Really?" My interest was piqued. "What are ya gettin'?"

Murphy shook his head firmly. "Sorry. Can't tell ya. But iffin' ya want ta meat us fer a pint later that evenin'…maybe dinner? I'll show ya then."

I smiled at his offhanded way of asking me out. "I might know of a pub or two that you boys will like." I'd have to bring Jenny along to keep an eye on Connor – I couldn't imagine what sort of trouble he could get into, and Jenny would love the attention. She hadn't shut up about how 'brazenly adorable' my 'matched set' was, and she was rabid to get pints. I looked Murphy up and down and then noticed his bare neck. He hadn't bothered with buttons or re-tying his tie, but his rosary was gone again.

"Where's yer rosary?"

"Ah, fuck me," Murphy growled, his smile fading into something rueful as he dug his hand into his pocket. He withdrew his fist and cupped his hands together, opening them slowly. "Katie got a hold o'it. Don't think it was on purpose," he lamented.

"Oh, Murph, I'm sorry!" I felt truly bad, as it wouldn't have happened had I remembered to give it back to him that afternoon. I picked up the length of cord still present and the beads that clung there. "I think I can fix it," I offered, inspecting the damage.

"Really?" Murphy breathed. "Ah, Márín, love, yer a saint."

"Not exactly," I muttered before I held out my clutch and let Murphy pour the beads into it. Setting it aside, I leaned back against the door of the truck. "Think Katie will be all right?"

The _last_ think Murphy wanted to talk about was Katie Hanigan. He made a face at Márín's question and shrugged. "Probably have one hell of a hangover in the mornin'."

"What brought it on?" Márín continued.

Murphy sighed and ran his fingertips over the steering wheel. "She saw us dancin' an'…just got mad, I suppose." He looked to Márín with a shrug.

Márín nodded with a laugh. "You know, no matter how much times change, some things stay the same. Trust me, Murphy, yer Spring Formal experience is not so far of from me own."

Murphy chuckled. "Ah, c'mon, I bet ya'd look smashin' in blue tinfoil," he quipped, referring to Katie's dress. He looked Márín over once more. "Meant what I said earlier."

"Thank ya," Márín breathed. "But tha fuckin' _drama_, Murphy. I mean, we had it all - drunken teenagers, hurt feelings, loud music, drug use, horny teenagers…"

"Adults were just as horny," Murphy pointed out, earning another grin.

"An' bad chaperonin'," Márín sighed. "Christ, Murph, I really put myself out there fer you an yer brother."

"I know," Murphy nodded. "Thanks again…"

"Swear ta Christ, Murph, if I hafta endure Mike Flanery thinkin' he has a chance with me - "

"He say somethin' else to ya?' Murphy's temper flared at the thought of Flanery within five feet of Márín.

Márín waved off his concern. "No need ta worry right now," she shrugged. She shot Murphy a sidelong glance then. "Ya boys goin' ta church t'morrow?"

Murphy shrugged. "Ma will let it slide cuz o'tha dance."

Márín smiled broadly. "Perfect. Then you an' Connor can come over an' help."

Murphy snorted and gestured to the window where the rain still pelted. "S'fuckin' lashin' out there, love. Can't do much with that."

Márín continued to smile and glanced out the window and at the thick overhang of clouds. "Somethin' tells me, that sun will be up an' out b'fore noon."


	11. Chapter 11

_A/N: Big thanks to Valerie E Mackin, Little Miss Tightly Wound, and Siarh for input and wisdom and general screwing of the pooch. We're almost Dublin bound, thanks for stickin' around._

* * *

If there was one thing that Murphy was looking forward to on his birthday, besides the obvious, it was _not_ hearing Connor hurl his guts out after a night of drinking. If plans went as set out, Murphy would be waking up next to Márín. But the morning after the dance, all he could hear was Connor's bellyaching from the bathroom down the hall, and the beginnings of Ma's screeching laughter, obviously taking the piss of her eldest son's misfortune.

"Aye, Connor, get it all up, right? Then we'll sit down ta salt pork an' runny eggs." Ma laughed again as Connor groaned sharply.

Murphy laughed, his own stomach rumbling, but at the offer of Ma's breakfast. He hadn't drank nearly as much as Connor – there hadn't really been time, between the dance and the coat check and Katie spewing in the girls' room. But it wouldn't have mattered if Murphy had drank _twice_ as much as his twin: he just didn't get hangovers. Murphy was merely tired, having dropped Márín off well past mindnight.

He hadn't let her go, not right away. As he had pulled into the drive of Father McMahon's home, the rain had lightened somewhat, and no longer drummed against the roof and the windshield. The only pounding Murphy heard was his heart against his ribs, and he was pretty certain Márín could hear it, too. Still, he'd kissed her goodnight, slowly, and wetly, and with promises in his lips and tongue, his hands smoothing over curves that he longed to see naked, and touch and feel against him. She was just as invested, her fingers combing through his hair and her mouth eagerly tasted his, and his jaw, and finally his ear, nibbling and sucking until he pulled away with a breathless groan.

"If ya don't go now," he managed to choke out as Márín's hand glanced over his thigh and skidded around his cock, "m'not gonna wanna stop."

Her kisses slowed, as did her hands, and she pulled her mouth away. "I don't wanna stop," she replied, her voice thick and warm.

Murphy had swallowed hard at her words, his heart threading quickly as his balls ached. "Márín," he rasped, "I'm gonna 'ave ya. An' tha first time I do, it's gonna be in a bed. Take me time wit' ya."

"Fuck, Murph," she whispered after a moment, pulling back a mere inch and looking up into his eyes. "How d'ya do that?"

"What's that?" he whispered back, touching his forehead against hers as his eyes closed.

"Keep me coming back for more." She trailed off and tilted her lips against his once more, sliding her tongue out to taste the corner of his mouth.

"I should ask ya tha same thing," Murphy huffed gently. His fingers twined with hers as her mouth slowly receded.

She let out a small sigh. "Thank you. For the ride home." She leaned up once more and kissed him softly, and then slipped out of the truck and made her way to the front steps of the little house.

Back in his bed at home, he kept one ear on Connor's retching and let his eyes close to conjur feelings and images from last night. Fuck, she'd tasted sweet, and she'd felt so warm – hot in places, even, and soft. With a growling grunt, Murphy shifted underneath his blanket, widening his thighs and tucking an arm under his head as his back arched in a slow stretch. _Hmmm…Márín…_ his mouth curled into a slow smile as his free hand rubbed his lower belly and deftly fisted his cock. Giving it a squeeze for good measure, his grin increased at the thought of having a little alone time for more than five whole min –

"Murphy MacManus, ya get yer arse outta bed! I'll not be takin' care o'Connor while he's 'eavin' like a wee babby!" Ma pounded once on the door. "Just because yer not going ta church don't mean ya get ta sleep in!"

Murphy's eyes rolled heavenward with exasperation. "Mother a' God," he muttered, feeling his hard on start to fade.

"Lord's fuckin' name," Ma growled, rapping on the door a few more times for good measure. "Up wit ya! An' if tha two o'ya are still here when I get home, there's gonna be a list o'chorse a mile long fer yas."

"All right," Murphy called out sharply. He heard her footsteps fade and he sighed once he deemed it safe. "Fuck." He checked the clock. It was close to nine; he and Connor had promised to be at Father McMahon's by ten, and they still needed to circle back to the school to pick up the car Márín had left there the night before. Sitting up, he swung his legs out of bed and immediatey reached for his rosary. When his fingers came up empty where they scrabbled along the surface of the small table, Murphy frowned and cast a quick glance about the room.

Márín had his rosary. And no sooner had that thought come back to him had another one followed it: Katie had snapped the cord and beads had scattered. His hand flitted to his chest, gently touching the spot where the heavy cross usually brushed, and that was when Connor stumbled back into the room.

"Fuck, whydya hafta go an' do a shtupid ting like volunteer us fer 'ard labour this morning'?" Connor's head lolled back as he sagged against the door frame, his red eyes barely open. He paused his whining and glanced at Murphy closely. "Tha fuck is yer rosary? Thought Márín gave it back t'ya?"

"Katie Hanigan happened," Murphy answered gruffly. "Cord broke, beads were everywhere."

"Ya get em all?"

Murphy shrugged. "Hope so. Gave tha lot ta Márín; she said she can fix it."

Connor nodded. "Aye, better pray she can. Ma finds out that ya broke it or worse an' ye'll be up tha creek." He shuffled his way into the bedroom and began searching for an old pair of jeans and a t shirt. He sniffed the air carefully and rounded a grin on Murph. "She didn't fuckin' cook," Connor snorted. "She's just tryin' ta get me ta hurl more. Christ, she's an evil woman."

"Aye, but she's yer Ma, too, so don't test her."

"You should talk – what tha hell was she goin' on about in here? Ya weren't pullin' it _again_, were ya, Murph?"

"Oh, like ya don't pull it six times a day at least."

"Ah, fuck off, ya retard."

Murphy shook his head and began dressing as well.

"Ya really like her, don't ya?" Connor asked softly a little while later.

Murphy shrugged and gave a quick nod. "Aye."

"Aye," Connor echoed softly. "Right, well, don't want ta piss her off an' ruin yer chances wit' 'er, aye? Suppose she'll have breakfast on?"

"Dunno. But there'll be lashes o'coffee."

Connor made a face. "No tea?"

"Christ, yer a fuckin' pansy wit' all o'dat tea," Murphy teased, earning a shot to his shoulder from his twin. "Aye, fuck off," he chuckled. "I'm sure she'll make ya some if ya ask."

Connor grinned. "Let's get movin' then, aye? B'fore she makes us clean out tha coops."

* * *

I woke to pounding on the kitchen door.

I froze for a moment, wondering who it could be, and then I remembered that I had deemed manual labour a suitable punishment for helping them sneak a drunk girl out of a school dance. The clock said it was barely past nine and I groaned. Shouldn't they be hung over? At least Connor? He'd had a bit to drink, I had been able to tell when he busted into the coat check. I curled up on my side and snuggled back into the blankets.

Almost immediately, the pounding on the door started up again. Right, the door. "All right," I called as I shrugged into an oversized sweatshirt and trudged to the door. I rubbed my eyes and pulled the flimsy curtain back from the window and jumped, letting out a surprised yelp. Jenny stood on the other side, huge smile on her face, and waving a like a loon.

"What tha fuck areya doin' here?" I asked as I swung the door open.

She lifted a bag from O'Hanalan's grocer in one hand and a pack of Guinness in the other. "Knew ya'd be alone out here, so I decided ta surprise ya!" she exclaimed, moving into the kitchen and setting her things down. "C'mon, get tha coffee on, yeah? I want ta hear all about tha dance."

Márín closed her eyes and took a deep breath, letting the door swing shut. "Ya sound like me muther after our formal."

Jenny grinned. "Aye, well, let's hope it turned out better, yeah?" She unloaded a few packages wrapped in butcher's paper, and then unloaded a few plastic containers. Moving through Colin's kitchen with ease, she sought out a pair of skillets, and set about making breakfast.

"Jenn, there's enough here ta feed a whole family."

Jenny frowned and then shrugged, and continued measuring out ingredients for boxty. "Aye, but me girl likes her boxty in tha mornin'." She winked and waved at the Guinness on the counter. "Least ya could do is open me beer?"

"It's barely half nine!" I exclaimed.

She shrugged. "It's noon somewhere. C'mon, have some fun. Colin ain't here." She paused at this and then turned wide eyes towards me. "Oh my god, yer not alone, are ya?" Almost vibrating, she dropped her voice to a low hiss and raised a curious eyebrow. "Fuck me, Márín, don't tell me ya've got Murphy holed up in yer bedroom."

"No!" I crowed a little too sharply. I cast my eyes about sheepishly, as if Colin – or even Murphy – would suddenly appear out of nowhere. Sighing, I shook my head again and leaned heavily against the counter. "No," I repeated, a little distant this time. "But by Christ, Jenny, I…" my fingers flexed and I squirmed on my tiptoes. "It's gettin' harder ta say g'night. Ya know?"

Jenny winked. "Aye, I know what that's like. But his birthday – their birthday – is this week. I mean, by Wednesday, you won't have to say g'night, necessarily."

"I know," I nodded, ruffling my bed head. My bottom lip worked its way between my teeth and I cast a pleading look at Jenny. "I just…I mean…"

"Yer havin' second thoughts." Jenny nodded sagely, as if she'd just solved a great mystery.

"What? _No_," I protested vehemently. "No, I'm not rethinking…at least, not Murphy. But the whole…sex…thing…" I muddled my words together, trying to figure out if there was any really tactful way to say it."

"He's a virgin," Jenny piped up matter-of-factly.

My face heated. "Aye," I nodded. "And I'm not sure…I don't want…" I growled, frustrated. "I'm worried that I might let him down."

Jenny blinked at me, clearly dumbfounded by my confession. "Let me get this straight: he wants you, he's said so." I nodded. She continued. "And you want him." She waited until I nodded once more. "So…you want each other…" she trailed off with a confused frown. "I'm sorry, Márín, but I'm failing ta see the issue here."

I sighed and dropped my forehead to the counter. "Never mind."

"Márín, stop over analyzing the situation!" Jenny laughed. Sidling up next to me, she leaned her forehead down next to mine and pulled back the curtain of my hair so she could see me. "Hey." She winked. "I may have only met him once, but the way he was lookin' at ya in that dress shop, I hardly think _anything_ you're going ta do will let him down." She made a face at me.

I heaved a little laugh and nodded, and stood straight, flinging my hair from my eyes. "When did I turn into this?" I muttered, exasperated. "I never second guessed myself. _Never_. You know that – remember me in high school?"

Jenny grinned. "How could I forget?" Then she sighed and shook her head. "I don't want ta be tha one ta say it but…"

"I need ta get over Joe?" I readily supplied.

Jenny paused with wide eyes. "Well…yeah," she agreed. She studied me for a moment. "What brought this on?"

I snorted softly at the thought of my half-assed confession the night before to Mike Flanery of all people. "Doesn't matter," I shrugged. "But I think it's time."

"So you'll come to Dublin for their birthday?" Jenny asked, excitement creeping back into her voice.

"Jesus, what are ya doin', plannin' their party?" I laughed. "Aye, I'll be there."

Jenny did a little shimmy right there in the kitchen and then began shaping out boxty cakes, laying them into the skillet one by one. "_Good_. And I want all the horny details."

I opened my mouth to reply when there was a gentle but precise rap on the kitchen door. Jenny's gaze slipped to the window there, and she grinned broadly. "Looks like I brought enough food, aye?"

* * *

"Tha fuck d'ya suppose they're talkin' about over there?" Connor sniffed as he set his paintbrush down and leaned against the shed and lit a cigarette.

Murphy shrugged, his dark head still bent to his task. "Dunno." He paused and glanced up to where Márín and Jenny were lounging on chairs, drinking beer, and chatting. He shot a look at his brother and took up painting the board he was working on. "Maybe Jenny's goin' on about how cute y'are."

Connor snorted and flipped Murphy off, and took another few healthy drags of his cigartette. "Can't blame the woman, can I?" He laughed and clapped Murphy on the shoulder. "Anyway, she's married."

"She's still pretty hot," Murphy pointed out, joining Connor in staring across the yard to the two women.

"Aye," Connor nodded. He passed his cigarette to Murphy. "We decide what we're doin' on Wednesday?"

"I thought tha plan was Dublin?"

Connor shot his brother an exasperated look. "Aye, obviously – but what about her?" He gestured across the yard to where Márín lounged in what Murphy figured was half a t-shirt and tiny shorts.

Murphy squinted and shrugged. "I think she'll be there, yeah."

"What's this 'think' shit? Ya did ask her, didn't ya?"

Murphy frowned and set about hauling another board into place. "Yeah, sure I did."

"Ah, fuck, Murph, she's not Katie Hanigan, aye? Grow some fuckin' balls an' just talk ta her. Ya can damn well get two knuckles deep in her, ya can fuckin' ask her out fer bevvies." Connor looked back from where he'd been sizing up Jenny's little black tank top to look at Murphy.

Murphy's _fist_, however, was coming straight for Connor's nose. It landed with a hardened _thud_, not with enough force to break, but enough to send a message. "Ya fuckin' cunt, don't talk about 'er like that," Murphy growled, laying another two punches to Connor, one in the gut and one in the thigh. Connor doubled over and collapsed to the lawn, and immediately, the two were rolling over the dry grass and into the puddles.

* * *

"Is that normal?" Jenny asked lightly, tilting her sunglasses down and looking across the yard.

"Hmm?" I looked up from where I'd begun to pull up a small crop of dandelion from the lawn. There, on the other end of the yard, Murphy and Connor were rolling around like – well, like a pair of brothers fighting over something. Only, instead of it being endearing, like maybe it would have been ten years ago, it was very physical – borderline vicious – and I cold hear their outbursts of Gaelic and a few other languages I couldn't place.

I sprung up from the grass, cursing at their antics, and marched towards them, not really knowing what I'd do once I got there – just knowing I couldn't sit by and watch them beat on each other. As I neared, however, their blows lessened, and I could detect a hint of laughter as they continued to pass insults back and forth. By the time I was right on top of them, the fight seemed to have run its very short course, and they both laid back on the damp earth and sucked in gasping breaths as their elbows continued to dig into one another's ribs.

"Christ, you two – what the hell are ya on about?" I stood over the pair, looking from Murphy, to Connor, and then back to Murphy.

"Lord's fuckin' name," they chimed in simultaneously, and my only response was to groan at them both and roll my eyes. That made them erupt into more laughter, and they passed a few more sentences back and forth in one of those secret languages.

Connor was the first to speak. "Ya kinda look like our third grade teacher standin' up there, lass. Hands on yer hips, waitin' ta give us a whuppin'." He grinned broadly and bounced his eyebrows. "Just, take it easy on Murph, aye? He's sensitive." He winked and then howled with pain and laughter as Murphy drove his fist into the meat of Connor's thigh, a right deadner if I ever saw one.

"Fuck, yer some can o'piss, aren't ya, Conn?" Murphy growled, though he couldn't help but grin at the same time. He struggled to his feet and then nudged Connor once more with the toe of his sneaker. "Cheeky fuck," he added before he stepped to me and dusted his hands on his jeans. "Sorry, gir…ah…la…Márín," Murphy grinned. He was dying to use one of his many endearments, but I still hadn't given him the okay. We weren't even official, if that was the right word. I narrowed my eyes at him and swept them from head to toe, assessing any damage.

"Well, ya managed ta steer clear o'tha mud…" I trailed off and glanced to Connor, who was far worse off than his twin. "But you," I said, pointing at the fairer brother, "are a right mess."

"Guess ya better hose me off, then?" Connor smiled broadly and pulled his shirt up and over his head before moving across the yard towards the house.

I looked at Murphy with half a grin. "C'mon. Ya might as well take a break while I take care o'yer brother."

When Murphy was settled in my abandoned chair with a fresh Guinness and a cigarette, I approached Connor, where he was currently lurking around Jenny's chair, twisting his grubby t shirt in his hands and smiling like it was going out of style. I laughed at his attempts to flirt with my best friend and rolled my eyes as Jenny fought to _not_ blush.

"Let's go, Romeo," I sighed, tugging Connor's elbow and moving him to the side of the house. I stood him in a patch of sunlight and turned the water on slow, and dug my thumb into the spout to create a bit of a spray. I aimed it at Connor's chest, and he squealed and danced away as icy cold water blasted him. He adjusted to the temperature quickly enough, and rubbed his hands over golden skin to rid himself of the sticky mud from the church yard.

"What was that about?" I called over the sound of rushing water.

"Eh?" Connor sputtered and rubbed a handful of cold water over his face, shivering violently and letting out another groan. "Ya mean that there? When we was fightin'?"

"Aye," I nodded.

Connor pulled the hose from my hands and stuck the end in his mouth where he proceeded to swish water around before spitting it out and handing the hose back. "Wasn't nothin', aye?" He shrugged and grinned fondly, casting a glance back to Murphy. "He's me brother," Connor added, as if that was explanation enough, and I suppose it was. "Have ta take tha piss when I can, aye? Especially when there's a gir…ah…woman involved." Connor trailed off and the tips of his ears went a little pink.

I shut the water off and wound the hose, and then turned back to see Connor sling his muddy t shirt over the railing of the deck. I saw his rosary swing across his chest and was suddenly spurred into action.

"Oh!"

Connor turned, startled. "What's wrong, lass?"

"Tha rosary. I mean…I have Murphy's…how many beads is it supposed ta have?"

Connor raised an eyebrow. "Aye, he told me Katie got her hands on his." He picked up the cross from where it rested below his solar plexus and stared for a moment, rubbing his thumb along the wood. "Should be fifty nine," he answered, looking back up at me. "Why? How many ya got?"

"Fifty seven," I replied with a sigh. "And I don't see myself goin' back to tha school and crawlin' around tha girl's restroom on me hands an' knees lookin' fer the other two." I sighed and sank onto the back steps, running a hand through my hair.

Connor plopped down next to me, lighting a cigarette and leaning back. He took a few drags before he suddenly shifted forward and pulled his rosary over his neck. "Here," he said, holding it out to me. "Fix his, aye?" Connor's blue eyes met my gaze. "He needs it more than I do."

I stared at Connor longer this time, watching as he flicked his gaze back out to his brother. "You're the oldest, aren't you?" I heard myself ask.

Connor smiled ruefully, and blew out a stream of smoke. "Ah, c'mon, lass. I don't know that any more than you do." As he finished speaking, however, he turned to me and raised one eyebrow. His hand reached down to mine cupping his rosary, and he closed my fingers around the wooden beads, squeezing once. "Think of it as a birthday present ta me, aye?"

I opened my mouth to press him further, but, like every Sunday, the churchbells rung out, and both Connor and I turned to the sound. He pushed up from the stairs and flicked his cigarette aside before wandering back towards Murphy.

"Oi! Ain't enough ya got one beautiful woman?" Connor joked as he neared his brother and Jenny, who seemed to be having a rather in depth conversation. My attention was snagged by the pair as well, and I tucked Connor's rosary into my pocket as I stood from the stairs and made my way across the lawn.

The congregation began to file from the church, a rush of voices, twittering their hellos and well wishing and crowing about the change of weather. Murphy was already standing from my chair, casting a wary glance over his shoulder and then looking to Connor.

"Back ta work, then," Murphy muttered, nodding towards the church. "Looks like Ma is headed this way, aye?"

Sure enough, Annabelle MacManus was making her way across the yard towards us and I suddenly felt very silly, standing there in shorts and a t shirt, handing out manual labor to her twins. I felt vulnerable. I felt childish, even, watching as her hard brown eyes went from her eldest, stripped to the waist, to Jenny, and then to me, and then finally to Murphy. Her eyebrow crept up and her jaw hardened.

"Hiya, Ma," Connor called as he picked up a paintbrush, finding no discomfort in the situation.

Mrs. MacManus merely glanced in Connor's direction and gave a barely audible _hmph_ before turning back to Jenny and myself. "Good afternoon, Ms. Guinness," she greeted formally. Beside me, Murphy stiffened and bristled at his mother's tone, and he crossed his arms over his chest. "I see ya have me boys workin' hard fer ya," she pressed on. The twinge of sarcasm in her voice was borderline scathing and I shifted under her heavy gaze.

Jenny sprung from her chair. "Hallo. Jenny O'Reilly. I'm friends with Márín, from Dublin."

Mrs. MacManus hummed once more, but shook Jenny's offered hand for a moment. When it was over, Jenny paused and glanced at me, and then back to the twins' mother. Clearly, there was a silent stand off going on between me and the older woman, and Jenny shuffled back slightly.

Mrs. MacManus turned back to me. "Guess me boys like doin' things fer ya rather than their own chores at home."

"Ma, you know I'm takin' this on as punishment…" Murphy's protest died off as his mother's eyes scraped over his dishevelled state, half a cigarette in one hand and a bottle of Guinness in the other.

"Aye," Mrs. MacManus bit out. She swung her eyes back to me. "An' perhaps if young Ms. Guinness here came ta church, she'd have a better idea of punishment an' penance."

I don't think I would have been more startled if she had slapped me. She might as well have slapped me; her voice was cold and harsh and she took a few more moments to look between me and Murphy, noticing how Murphy took a defensive stance beside me, slightly poised in front of me as if to shield me from his mother's wrath.

"Don't talk ta her like that, Ma," Murphy suddenly warned and my stomach dropped as Mrs. MacManus's eyes went wide at Murphy's words.

She looked back to me and nodded slowly, as if she suddenly knew everything that had ever transipired between her youngest son and I. I felt my cheeks burn and though I hated myself for it, I averted my eyes and turned to look up at Murphy.

His jaw was tense as he and his mother stared each other down, and I was surprised when Murphy's stubbornness won out and Mrs. MacManus heaved a small sigh. "Right, then," she muttered before turning back to me. "A word wit' ya, girl." She didn't even wait for me to answer, and merely started back across the lawn towards the church.

Murphy finally looked to me and shrugged, unable to provide any guidance for a one-on-one with his mother. I steeled myself as best I could and took off after Annabelle MacManus.

"Mrs. MacManus, I know it looks like…" I trailed off, clearly not knowing how to approach her or the subject of her distress.

"Do ya?" Annabelle cut in, turning on the gravel and staring up at me – yes, up, she was short but fierce – with hardened dark eyes. "Do ya know what it looks like ta me?" She swore softly and threw up a quick prayer before taking a deep breath and fishing a cigarette from her purse. "I love me boys an' don't want ta see either of them get hurt."

My heartbeat slowed down to a crawl as her words sank in.

"But I've a mind ta warn ya as well: a MacManus man will leave ya in tha long run."

Clearly flustered, I scrambled to find an answer. "Mrs. MacManus, I don't…"

"Wasn't born yesterday, lass," she snapped, blowing out a puff of smoke. "An' I know Murphy better than most. He loves deeply, when given tha chance, to tha point of drownin'. But I meant what I said at dinner th'other night: those two will never be apart. Tha love fer a woman will never outweigh tha love b'tween Murphy an' Connor."

I couldn't do anything but stare back at her as her words echoed in my ears. My throat began to ache, began to threaten a torrent of emotion that I wasn't sure I would be able to reel in. Tears pricked my eyes as my jaw tightened.

Annabelle flicked her cigarette aside, and stepped onto the road we had come to. "I'm not tellin' ya this so you'll stay away from him. I'm tellin' ya this so ya won't be surprised when it happens." She turned back and smiled ruefully. In the afternoon sun, her dark eyes sparkled with what appeared to be unshed tears. A trick of the light, perhaps, but suddenly I found myself looking into the face of a young woman with a broken heart. She nodded once. "Mind what I told ya," she warned. "Don't go drownin' with him."

* * *

I sent the boys packing shortly after that, with some lame excuse about wanting to have 'girl time' with Jenny, when really, all I wanted to do was crawl under a rock and have a good cry. If it wasn't the forces in the universe keeping us apart, it was Murphy's mother, and though she told me her words were for my behalf, I could't help but feel they were more for her – Noah MacManus had up and left her without a word, and I just knew that she feared her sons would do the same thing. I was the cause of that. It was starting to eat away at me as I pulled the beads of Murphy's rosary out of my purse and set them on the table, and then set Connor's rosary out beside them.

Jenny wandered into the kitchen and sat across from me at the table, her chin in her hands as she watched me stare at the beads. "He really likes ya," she stated softly.

"I know," I answered just as quietly.

Jenny frowned and reached across the table, fumbling with the loose beads from Murphy's rosary. "What are ya doin?"

"Fixin' things tha best I can?" I slumped back into my chair and tilted my head up to the ceiling. Tears were already streaming down my face, the whirlwind of emotions from the morning finally catching up.

Before I knew it, I was sobbing uncontrollably, and Jenny launched from her chair and was around the table in seconds, letting me collapse into her. "Oh, _god_, Jenny," I whimpered. "Why's it have ta be so fucked up?" I sniffed and rubbed my eyes, but no matter how hard I tried, the tears kept coming, and with it, everything suddenly bubbled over. "He's barely eighteen – how fair is that? Tha universe insists on shittin on me, I swear ta Christ," I growled, sniffing and pressing my face into Jenny's long dark hair. Her arms went around me and mine around her and I ached, painfully, wishing that it was Murphy here with me, wishing that I could just forget about everything that had happened…from the time I married Joe to this, just wipe it all clean.

"It's not shittin'," Jenny soothed. "It's merely testin'. Yer a better woman than me, Márín. If I was you, I don't think I'd have been able to restrain meself as long as ya have." She gave a small chuckle. "Don't know what it is about those two, but it's suffocatin', isn't it? Like yer almost drownin'."

Her words sparked another roundabout of Annabelle MacManus's final phrase to me that afternoon and I shook with renewed sobs. "I can't stay here," I whispered, shaking my head. "Jenny, I can't – I don't want to." I put her at arms' length and looked into her face. "I need ta go back ta Dublin with ya. T'night."

* * *

Ma was on edge, that much was clear. When the twins returned home that afternoon, Connor made himself scarce and ducked up the back stairs, leaving Murphy and Ma in the kitchen alone. After Márín and ma had spoken, Márín seemed distant, almost cranky, and she had waved him and Connor off, spouting something about 'girl time'. Murphy knew it was more than that; he knew it had something to do with Ma, and now he watched as the older woman moved about the kitchen, searcing for a bottle of whiskey.

"What did ya say ta her?" No use in beating around the bush.

"Woman ta woman, talk, Murphy, an' that's all."

Murphy snorted at his mother's short reply. "Are ya sure? Didn't think she'd be upset after something so harmless."

The half full bottle of Bushmills that Annabelle had finally located came down hard on the counter with a flat _bang_ and she gripped the edges of the sink. "Leave it be, boy."

Murphy huffed and moved closer, pulling his mother's shoulder so that she would look at him. "Ma, tell me. She's pissed, I know it…"

"Aye, ya know her real fuckin' well, don't ya?" Annabelle sneered and shoved her youngest aside to get a glass.

"It's not like that…"

"Of _course_ it is, Murphy, even if ya haven't acted on it!" She whirled then, bottle in hand, glass forgotten, and she unscrewed the cap and took a lenghtly pull.

Murphy recoiled and gaped at his mother. He was used to her outbursts but now she seemed to be a million miles away. "Tell me what ya said."

After another slug of whiskey, Annabelle sank to the kitchen table. "You boys should come with a warnin'," she growled. "That's all it was. That's all I needed. To know what I was gettin' inta." Her voice grew soft, distant, and she stared at the cracked tabletop.

"Ma," Murphy growled, startling the woman back to where she sat in the kitchen. "What are ya talkin' about? A warnin'? What tha fuck?"

Ma snorted and peered sharply at Murphy. "It's fer her own good, thassall." Only a few pulls into the whiskey and already she was beginning to slur. Murphy wondered if she'd indulged before church, too. He pulled the bottle away and set it to one side.

"I'm not Da," Murphy began, feeling that somehow, his mother's mood and his father's absence were connected.

"Ya are," Ma sighed. "Tha both of ya are, but you, Murphy…yer more like yer da than I care ta acknowledge."

Murphy sighed, exasperated with his mother's cryptic ramblings. "Just tell me what ya said ta her, Ma," he growled.

"You boys will leave all o'this behind," she said in a small voice. Her hands waved about gesturing to the kitchen, but on a bigger scale, the house, the town, and her. "I've seen it. Ya know I have. An' a woman like Márín doesn't deserve ta have her heart broken."

"Christ, Ma," Murphy uttered, sitting back and rubbing his eyes.

"Lord's name," Ma piped up, her hand clipping the back of Murphy's head.

Murphy snarled sharply and shrugged the offending fingers aside, rubbing his dark hair as he eyed his mother once more. "Ya still on about that dream?"

"T'was the Lord's doin', Murphy Michael."

"Hail Mary," Murphy groused, only half convinced. He was certain that it was just as much the whiskey's doing.

Ma swiped the bottle back and drank once more. "Ya boys will leave, an' then what will I be left wit'?"

"Fer fuck's sake, Ma, is this about you or Márín?" Murphy finally roared, pushing back from the table. He stood from his seat and paced the small space. "Swear ta _Christ_, Ma, if ya went an' fucked it up between me an' her, I'll…"

Ma stood just as furiously, her dark eyes blazing. "You'll _what_?" she hissed. Her eyes seemed to snap to focus on him.

"I'm outta here," Murphy growled, stalking towards the back steps.

"Aye, that's yer answer fer _everything_, Noah!" Ma yelled after him.

Murphy froze, mid-step on the stairs, and listened as the whiskey bottle rattled against the table once more. He swore softly at his mother's behavoir. Seconds later, the kitchen door swung shut with a hard _crack_, and Murphy knew his mother had left, probably on her way to the Anvil. "Aye, we MacManus _men_ are a leavin' lot," he muttered under his breath. A creak on the steps above brought his gaze up from the worn carpet.

Connor stood before him, a grim line where his smile usually sat. He nodded swiftly towards the kitchen. "Ya done?"

Murphy sneered and shoved past Connor with another growl, and stormed to their bedroom.

"Oi, Murph, c'mon, ya know she doesn't mean…" Connor's words faded as his brother turned to stare evenly at him.

"Aye, she does," Murphy nodded. "Every time, doesn't matter 'ow much whiskey she's drank, Conn. She starts this shite every time, an' every time it comes down ta you, an' me, an' tha fact that Da left. M'not Da, Connor," Murphy finished vehemently. "I'd never do something ta hurt her like that."

Connor made a face and nodded, and wandered into the bedroom. Murphy busied himself with pulling a duffle bag from the closet, and he began stuffing it with t shirts and jeans.

Connor watched silently for a spell. "Whaterya doin'?"

"S'it look like I'm doin'?" Murphy muttered as he pushed the sides of the duffel together and pulled the zipper shut. "Look, these last two days of school? A writeoff. I don't need em', an' you don't either. An' m'not stayin' in this house wit' Ma if she insists on insultin' me. I'm goin' in ta Dublin." Murphy paused and looked up at Connor with his last words and stood motionless.

"Aye," Connor muttered after a moment. He nodded once and then pulled his own duffel out, and filled it with the same efficiency as Murphy. He didn't so much want to go to Dublin as he wanted to go to wherever Murphy was going. Connor had decided a long time ago that no matter where his darker half went, he'd follow with no questions asked, and neither of them would ever be alone.


	12. Chapter 12

_A/N: This is your Kleenex warning. I cried while I wrote parts of this, so don't be surprised if you get a little teary. Little Miss Tightly Wound, this means you. Thanks to everyone for reviews and follows and tweets (**follow me at Reeduffery**) and everything! Really, I can't get over the response to this story and I'm so glad you've stuck with me even if my updates have been a little slow as of late!_

_And, in case I haven't made it clear, one month to go until I meet Norman Reedus (and hopefully Sean Flanery, too). I'm seriuosly considering telling him he's my muse, for the stuff on here and my original works tucked safely away in my computer...I mean, he shares his talent with us every DAY, I just thought I'd return the favour. In any event, here's twelve, followed by 13 because that's how the numerical system works._

* * *

"Are ya sure yer all right?"

I took a breath and held it as I mulled over Colin's question from the other end of the phone line. After my snap decision to high tail it to Dublin, I'd had enough sense to pack a few belongings and ensure that Colin's car was at the station for him. I called him when I reached Jenny's and gave a half-explanation of my absence.

"Yeah. I just needed ta get away sooner rather than later. I'm sorry it's so abrupt…"

"Don't worry about it. You'll let me know if ya need anything, right?

I had to smile at Colin's warmth. "Aye, I will." We said our farewells and I hung up, and then turned to Jenny. "I need a drink."

She laughed and nodded, curling an arm around my shoulders, and led me from the kitchen to the living room where her husband, Liam, was already nursing whiskey and flipping through TV channels. He raised his glass in salute as I entered and I quickly took up the seat on the couch that was right next to him, and rested my head on his shoulder with a sigh.

"Jenny says it's boy troubles," he rumbled softly, patting my knee and holding out his glass of whiskey.

I'd always liked Liam, right when Jenny started dating him in our junior year of college. He was tall and lean, with soft brown hair and gentle green eyes, and he loved to laugh. He had also made it his personal mission to see me through Joe's death. I hadn't seen him since I met Murphy, but I could just imagine what Jenny might have told him.

"Aye," I sighed, taking the offered whiskey and swallowing a mouthful. As an afterthought, I drained it and set it on the table, earning a hearty chuckle that shook me where I leaned.

"If it's any consolation, we never grow up," he pointed out as he looped an arm around my shoulder.

"I'm startin' ta believe it." I sat back and gave Liam a questioning look. "What about mothers?"

He made a funny face and looked to Jenny, who nodded encouragingly at me. I looked back to Liam. "What I mean is…if you had met Jenny when you were still in high school…and she was the same age now…what would your mother have done?"

Liam pondered my question for a split second and then grinned broadly. "Probably pack me bags and send me out tha door inta Jenny's waitin' arms!"

Jenny snorted, rolling her eyes, and looked back at me. "Márín, I told ya in tha car – she's overprotective of those boys. I would be, too. An' not ta mention their father left. Of course she's worried yer goin' ta run off with her baby."

I shook my head. "That's not it…not all of it. Jenn…she said that he'd leave me. That MacManus men always leave."

Jenny paused and narrowed her eyes. "She's just tryin' ta throw ya off."

I gave Jenny a half shrug and didn't comment. Annabelle MacManus's speech was a bit more than that. It was a warning from a woman who knew all too well.

"So are ya stayin' wit' us then?" Liam piped up, rising from the couch and frowning at his empty whiskey glass. He crossed the room and poured another glass for him, and new one for me.

"Ah…yeah, I thought I might?"

Liam scoffed. "Like ya hafta ask. Jenny's been dyin' fer ya ta come back."

"Oh, aye, like ya haven't been botherin' me since tha last time she was here – it was barely two weeks past!" Jenny smiled fondly at her husband and flopped down on the couch on my other side. "What are ya makin' fer dinner?"

"Christ, now I've got ta cook, too?" Liam groaned with a smirk. "Roast pork wit figs. Mashed potatoes. Creamed peas?"

My stomach clenched a little as Liam spouted off the menu from Colin's dinner with the MacManus clan, but I didn't say anything. The phone rang next, and Liam moved to answer it while Jenny stretched out on the couch and put her feet in my lap. "So, we need ta find something fer ya ta do over the next few days. Keep ya occupied."

I opened my mouth to answer, but Liam was back, the phone cord stretching behind him, his hand cupped over the speaker. "Hey, it's fer you," he said, holding the phone out to Jenny. She sighed and rolled off of where she'd sprawled, and took up the phone, wandering into the next room.

I had an idea of what I needed to do to keep my mind occupied. The drive to Dublin was short, but it had allowed me to collect one or two thoughts. What I'd said to Jenny that afternoon – what Mike had made me realise the night before – about finally letting Joe go still resonated in my chest and I knew without a doubt that before anything else could happen, before I could try and figure out this thing with Murphy, I needed to gut out the last five years of my life. The townhouse on Davis Way had to go.

Jenny came back a few moments later, a strange smile in place, but she waved it off, telling me it was just an interesting development at work. At that I raised an eyebrow because Jenny worked part time as substitute teacher at a private academy. There wasn't that much interesting going on unless the recipe for the mystery meat was suddenly changed, but I didn't comment. Instead, we gatherered the bottle of whiskey and headed to the kitchen to join Liam as he cooked.

* * *

"I'm headed to the townhouse," I said as the last bites of dinner were downed with red wine.

Liam looked up from his plate and glanced to Jenny, and then both of them looked at me with excited faces. "Do ya want a hand with anything?" Jenny asked.

I shook my head, standing and gathering the plates from the table. "No. I think I need ta do this on me own. But thanks."

"All right," Jenny nodded, nudging Liam with an elbow and happy little grin.

I smiled and shook my head at the pair. "Worried about me for a spell, were ya?"

"Nah," Jenny waved off with a wink. "Never doubted ya fer a moment."

Liam snorted from where he was pouring the last of the red wine into his glass, earning him another elbow to the ribs. He protested softly, but then turned his gaze to me. "Just had ta be patient wit' ya. Christ, yer a stubborn one, aye?"

I chuckled and set the dishes next to the sink. "Do ya need a hand here first?"

"No!" Jenny and Liam chimed in, rising from the table.

"Go, now, all right?" Jenny waved me off, and Liam gave me parting instructions to return with another bottle of Bushmills as he tossed me the keys to his car.

* * *

"She says it's no problem," Connor announced as he hung up the pay phone and turned to his brother. "She's got a place in Blackrock with two guest rooms so there's room."

Murphy nodded but didn't seem entirely comfortable with the situation. "D'ya think this is wise? I mean…" he trailed off with a shrug. "We barely know her – I don't want ta just drop in."

Connor rolled his eyes. "It's _fine_, Murph. She gave me her number ta ring up when we got ta Dublin – we're just here a few days early, that's all. C'mon, I'm starvin'. Don't tell me yer not hungry?"

Murphy shrugged. "Aye, I could do with a bite."

Connor grinned and started the truck up once more, pulling out onto the highway from the rest stop outside of Dublin. "Good enough. Jenny says there's leftovers." He looked to Murphy once more, noticing his lack of attention as he stared out the window. "Hey, y'all right?"

Murphy nodded as he lit a pair of cigarettes and handed onto Connor. "As good as can be. This thing wit' Ma, Conn, I didn't mean ta drag ya down."

Connor rolled his eyes as he deftly wove around traffic and flipped off those not fast enough to get out of his way. "Furthest thing from me mind, Murph. Ya know I'll never let ya go it alone, aye?" He shot Murphy a pointed glare.

Murphy chuckled with a nod. "Aye. Thanks, Conn."

"Right. Tha next time I want ta chase a girl, yer comin' wit'."

"M'not chasin' her," Murphy protested. "I didn't know she was goin' ta Dublin."

Connor tucked his cigarette into the corner of his mouth as he put two hands on the wheel and cut across lanes to just make the right exit. "Right, well…_someone_ knew and put ya on tha path."

Murphy groaned. "Connor," Murphy warned.

"That's all I'll say," Connor quickly assured his brother. "Now, we've got more important things ta think about."

Murphy gazed warily at Connor. "Like what?"

The lighter twin grinned broadly and threw a cocky eyebrow in his brother's direction. "Sleepin' arrangements."

* * *

This time, I didn't let the scarred doorway keep my attention. I was on a mission now, barrelling through the front door, and toeing off my shoes and peeling away my jacket. When the door clicked shut behind me, the silence and stillness of the place made my ears ache, and I took a moment just to let my eyes adjust to the early evening light coming in through the windows.

It was like a dream, really. The furniture had been covered in sheets to keep the dust away, and the air was stuffy, almost musty, and not quite smelling like I remembered. An ache started in my throat once more as I looked at the familiar framed pictures on the mantle and toed the stain on the carpet where Liam had spilled red wine two Christmases ago. Though I had snagged my most cherished books from the shelves, they were still stuffed with paperbacks and how-to guides, and books about art and architecture and cooking and cars. The kitchen seemed sad. I missed working over the gas range, putting together elaborate meals and simple snacks for two to twenty people. The stairs that led up to the bedrooms daunted me and I paused at the bottom of them, looking up. My hand slid along sage green walls that I remembered painting the first summer we had moved in, and I found the light switch and flicked it on. The utilties were still hooked up, paid automatically through the estate account that had been set up. Light washed down the stairwell and lit the upper landing, and so I began to climb.

The ache in my throat was back, paired with an unbelievable pressure in my chest. Every step was agony, threatened to tear me down and make me turn and run but I just couldn't leave this anymore. Before I knew it, I was standing before the bedroom – _our_ bedroom – and it had been left untouched since the day I left in January. I loomed in the doorway, looking at the bed, unmade after the last time I'd slept in it. The closet doors were still thrown open, and bare hangers decorated my side. Joe's clothes still hung in neat fashion, and so there was where I started. I marched over the threshold and dove into the closet, pulling the other large suitcase out. It wouldn't be big enough to hold all of Joe's things, but it was a start, and I knew that I had boxes stored down under the cellar stairs.

Shirts and jackets, jeans, socks, underwear, things he hadn't worn since he was a teenager, things he'd worn out to the point of threadbare, it all went in, piled to the point that I needed to kneel on the suitcase to get the zipper closed. I didn't really stop to take catalogue of what I was packing away, but when my fingers touched the soft cotton of his worn hooded sweatshirt, I paused, stroking my fingers lovingly over the faded red, and that was when the tears began to fall. The rolled in silence down my cheeks, spattering the bedsheets and the sweatshirt and my jeans, and for a moment, I merely sat there, curled over that damn faded thing, curled into myself and what Joe and I had been. I was raw, and torn, but each time I took a breath, the time between sobs grew, until I was merely sniffling, folding the sleeves back on themselves. This one thing I would keep. I'd stash it away in some box or some drawer in some new home. As I folded, the overhead light glanced off the platinum band I wore, and I paused to rub the smooth metal with my thumb.

It was silly, really, that the sweatshirt in my hands was more to me than my wedding band. The sweatshirt represented my friendship with Joe – he'd owned it since I first met him and we'd both worn it to death. The ring, I realized, was the thing that represented something that Joe and I were not, something that we weren't meant to be. That didn't mean there wasn't love, but it had passed. When I pulled it, the band slipped from my fingers with more ease than before. I set the ring down on the dresser and stepped back, staring at it. The cloying guilt I had always felt when I took it off wasn't there. The panic that usually settled in my heart wasn't there. It had been replaced with a strange sense of _giddiness_. It was just a circle of metal. I took another deep breath and let it out slowly as a smile touched my lips. There was no stopping me now.

I found the boxes under the cellar stairs and lugged them back up to the bedroom, too far gone now to stop. I was on a roll, clearing out drawers, throwing away things not worth keeping, and sealing the rest away for those that needed it – clothes, books, sporting equipment…I did it all, and it took hours, and I smoked cigarettes and drank beer that had to have been six months old, but I didn't care. I didn't even notice the time until I realized that it had become dark outside. My watch said eleven thirty and I gaped – had I only been here for four hours?

I was actually surprised Jenny hadn't called, and though I figured Liam would be in bed, I grabbed the Bushmills from the cupboard in the kitchen, and took another look at the pile of Joe's belongings as I gathered my coat and purse. I didn't really want to wait until tomorrow to finish the job – what if I talked myself out of it during the night? But I'd already stripped the bed, and the couch was piled high with the boxes of Joe's things. I'd call a hauling company in the morning, I decided, and I locked up behind me and hopped into Liam's car.

I could see the house lights when I turned up their street, and I pulled into the drive and made my way through the front door. Right way, I heard loud voices and snippets of laughter, and I all but tripped on two pairs of size eleven tennis shoes. I set my purse down.

"Hello?" I called out.

The sound of a chair scraping across the kitchen floor was my reply and when I looked up from pulling my own shoes off, there was Murphy, standing in Jenny's front hall like he belonged there, a glass of whiskey dangling from his fingers.

"Hallo," he greeted with a warm smile.

"Hi," I murmured back with my own smile. I looked him over as he stood there, warm and inviting and smiling just for me, and I was suddenly overcome with the thought that _this_ was what I wanted. I wanted Murphy to be the one I came home to.

* * *

"Hi." Immediately, he smacked himself. They'd just had this conversation. But she kept smiling, even bigger now, and giggled.

"Hi," she said again, stepping forward and touching the back of his hand with her fingers. She pressed up on her toes and kissed the corner of his mouth. Pulling back so that she could see his eyes, she said, "I'm glad you're here."

"Glad I came," he murmured back, watching as she settled back to her feet. She looked different – livelier, somehow – and before she could make another move, Murphy dove and stole another kiss. He let his lips linger, and enjoyed the soft press, the gentle taste and scent of her hair, and the way she eagerly moved against him with a muffled sigh. He could kiss her for the rest of his life and be almost happy – _almost_. The hand not holding his whiskey curled against her cheek and pulled her forward, and then combed back through her hair and held her against his mouth.

"Jayzus, Murph, tha least ya could do is let her get her coat off."

Murphy growled lowly at his brother's sudden appearance, and Márín let out a little giggle into the kiss. Barely pulling back an inch, Murphy leaned to one side, slid his eyes to his brother, and raised his middle finger. "Feck off," he muttered before turning his eyes back to the woman in his arms.

Connor snorted and disappeared, his voice calling through to the kitchen: "Aye, t'is Márín. Though I think me brother is hell bent on suffocatin' her."

Finally, Muprhy pulled back further and sighed, his eyes refusing to leave Márín. "Sorry," he said softly. "Can I take yer coat?"

"Already took me breath away," Márín smiled, and she shrugged out of her jacket and handed it to Murphy.

He led her towards the kitchen, not like she needed guidance, but she clung to his hand when he took hers up, and seemed almost reluctant to go. She pulled him to a halt in the living room, ducking in around the wall away from the noise in the other room. "What are ya doin' here?"

"Waitin' fer you," Murphy replied. Márín fixed him with an expectant gaze and he worried his lip between his teeth before elaborating. "Didn't see tha point of ridin' out tha last two days o'school. Kinda excited fer me birthday, aye?" He grinned broadly to make his point.

Márín snorted fondly, and took up the glass from Murphy's hand. She took a long pull and swallowed, all while her eyes remained on Murphy. He cocked his head when she didn't say anything, and he got the feeling that he was seeing another side of her that he'd never been privy to before. There was lightness in her step, a gleam in her eye, and her smile came easily, almost like it couldn't be helped. "What is it?" Murphy murmured. He wound his fingers through hers and stroked over her knuckles with his thumb. Something was different. Definitely. He looked down at their joined hands and held them up to his gaze. The wedding band was gone. He quickly looked to her face. "Y'okay?" he asked quietly.

"_Pair_-fect," Márín purred gently. "I…" she broke off, a light blush touching her cheeks and she tried again, swallowing thickly before she did so. "I want to take you somewhere tomorrow. You an' me, aye? Alone."

He gave her a curious stare. "All right," he nodded. "Where?"

She shook her head. "It's a surprise." She turned their joined hands and pressed her lips to his knuckles. "I want ya all to meself."

"I'm all yours," Murphy agreed.

"Aye, but t'night, we're celebratin', so be kind and bring us that bottle o'Bushmills, aye?" Jenny popped her head around the corner and grinned between the pair. She nodded towards Murphy. "This one's been bouncin' all night waitin' fer ya ta come home. Not that he wasn't entertained. I think Liam has become an honorary MacManus brother." Jenny winked and retreated back towards the kitchen.

"D'ya want ta talk about it?" Murphy asked as his thumb glanced over the soft skin of Márín's ring finger. He was intrigued, to say the least, about what had transpired in her absence. Jenny had merely said she was taking care of a few things at her old place, but Murphy had a feeling it had been a much more cathartic experience.

Márín smiled and nodded. "But not right now," she decided. "Jenny's right, we're startin' the celebration early, aye?" She tugged Murphy back into the hallway and kissed his cheek.

For the first time since he'd met her, he felt a sense of calm, of wholeness, of completion that hadn't been there. Before there had been classes and baseball and parents and teachers and priests, and hurried kisses and nervous touching, waiting for someone to find them out. Now, though, it was just the two of them, and they wandered back into the kitchen, hand in hand, and, in Murphy's mind, heart to heart. Now they were closer. Now he felt he had all the time in the world.

* * *

It was close to two when we all finally wound down and headed for bed. Jenny's guest bedrooms were on the lower level towards the back of the house, and Connor moved to the smaller one next to the bathroom while I stopped at the larger one. Murphy paused in the hallway, looking from his brother, to me, and then back to his brother.

"Say g'night, Murph," Connor grinned.

Murphy's eyes swung back to me and he smiled softly. "Never," he replied gently.

I nodded and took up Murphy' hand and backed us into the room, looking past Murphy's shoulder to Connor who could only gape where he stood in the doorway of their room. "G'night, Connor. Don't wait up, aye?" I swung the door closed.

"Oi – wait…_what_?" I heard Connor's protests before the door clicked shut.

I looked up to Murphy who watched me expectantly. His fingertips rubbed together and he made several attempts to reach for me before I giggled and tugged him to sit on the edge of the bed with me. I perched on my knees next to him and combed his hair back over his ears, smiling as he pressed into my hand with a groan.

"You okay?" I asked gently, sitting back and moving my hands to my lap.

He inhaled deeply and held it, staring at the door like he was trying to burn holes through it.

"Murph?" I ventured once more.

"Aye," he nodded slowly. He turned and his smile returned tenfold. "I'm perfect, Márín." He made to reach for me again and stopped short, and huffed a sigh. "I just don't…I mean…" His voice began to quiver very subtly as he trailed off and he chewed his bottom lip.

I smiled and stretched up off of my heels and slowly crawled over his lap until I had a knee on either side of his thighs. His hands slipped down over my shoulders to catch my waist, and he held me steady as I sank down. He took another breath and began once more.

"I've…thought about this. A _lot_," he chuckled. "An' now that I've got ya…I don't really know…how ta…" his ears turned red, along with his cheekbones, and I arched up in his hans and pressed my chest against his, looping my arms over his wide sholders.

"Kiss me," I replied. "I want ya ta kiss me, Murphy. Please."

He grinned and ducked his head, and then pressed a soft kiss on the underside of my jaw. It was barely there, but I felt it hammer straight to my toes. My fingers dug into his shoulders. "More," I urged.

He hummed against my skin and switched to the other side of my jaw, his mouth a little firmer, his tongue sneaking a taste of the thin skin there. I arched harder against him and hummed at the pleasure that zipped through my veins. "Again," I sighed.

Somehow, I ended up beneath him, and he eased back, his finger tips dragging from my shoulders down the front of my shirt, sliding along the curves of my breasts, until they landed on my thighs. He squeezed me there, holding my legs against his hips, and then he dove forward, catching my lips in a deep, hot kiss that made me groan and thrust against him wrecklessly. His hips ground down at the same time, and we both groaned as the heavy heat of his cock burrowed against the soft inferno between my thighs. He moved again, faster now, his hips taking up a rhythm that had no doubt been deeply embedded by primitive ancestors.

He rolled us into a frenzy, and our tongues sought each other out, lips and teeth tugged at what flesh they could. My shirt sailed off in a flurry of pale cotton; his was up and over his shoulders in seconds, and flung across the room to join mine. When he settled back down, the heat of his skin against mine was unbelievable, and I sighed as the shorts hairs on his belly tickled the soft flesh of mine. The rough stubble on his chin that had grown out during the day scraped along my chin as he moved from nibbling one ear to the other, and his hands combed through my hair, trailed down my flanks, and squeezed my hips before he pushed himself up from me.

He didn't say anything, merely searched my eyes, and then I felt his fingertips gently tugging on the thin straps of my bra, pulling one down, and then the other. The room became a vacuum, a warm, silent, heady space, and my breath caught in my throat as his dark head descended and his lips brushed over the tops of my breasts.

"Márín," he murmured against my skin, moving from one swell to the other. "Ya feel so good," he went on, "so right, here, with me." His eyes danced as he moved over me once more, and he cupped my face and gently kissed my lips. "I know I'm gonna regret sayin' this but…I still think we should wait."

A sigh left me, deflating me beneath him, and I was so wound up that I almost cried with his admission. "God, Murph," I managed to croak. "Yer killin' me." I flopped back against the pillows and sighed. "I thought I was supposed to be the one to tell you ta wait."

He hummed and nodded, but settled himself against me, shoulders, chest, belly, hips, thighs, until I was certain there wasn't a place we _weren't_ touching. Gently, he pushed his hips into mine and curled the ends of my hair around his fingers.

"Well, we've got a bed…but I've got a nosy twin, aye?" To prove his point, he grabbed one of the pillows from next to my head and flung it across the room, where it collided with the door with a deep _thump_. A muffled curse rose up on the other side of the door, followed by a string of words in another language.

I sighed again, and nodded, knowing Murphy was right. Somehow, we had to get the house to ourselves for a few hours. I made a decision to ask Jenny for help – I knew she wouldn't turn me down. I gave Murphy a playful smile and curled a leg over his hip before pushing him up and back. He landed on his back with a soft "_oof_", and a boyish grin split his face as I sat back on his hips and reached behind me to unclip my bra. I caught the scrap of satin with my hands and lifted my eyebrow.

His laughter bubbled in his chest and with a growl he caught my hands and pulled them from my body. I dropped the bra off the side of the bed and Murphy pushed my shoulders back and brushed my hair aside, and stared up at my face as his hands skimmed the sides of my breasts. As his thumbs grazed against my nipples, his eyes floated down to his hands, and mine closed, arching into his touch. His lips followed after his thumbs and I pulled him close, moaning softly at the sensation of his tongue brushing against my aching nipples. I threaded my fingers through his hair and held him steadily against me as he continued marking my skin with his mouth.

He looked up, shaking his hair from his eyes, and caught the back of my neck to pull me down for another kiss, this one rougher, deeper, his mouth working against mine as his breath sailed in and out of his nose. His shoulders rose and beneath me, his hips bucked restlessly.

My lips came away from his wetly. "Lie back," I urged, pushing against his shoulders.

"But…" he began to protest, but I shook my head and pressed a finger to his lips.

"Just lie back," I repeated, waiting as he obeyed and settled against the mound of pillows behind him.

There must have been a god in heaven. That was the first thing that came to mind as I looked at Murphy lying beneath me. The time we had shared when I cut his hair had been amazing, but Murphy MacManus was made for low light – candles, or flames, dawn and dusk, and, in this case, a small lamp burning next to the bed. The shadows played over the dips and hollows of his torso; his cheekbones cut dramatically as he dipped his chin to his chest and watched me slink down his lap and tug open the button on his jeans. My hand pushed beneath the layers of soft denim and the thin cotton that made up his briefs, and a thrill ran through me as my fingers curled around him, finally.

Both of us let out ragged sighs, and Murphy's was followed by a low, throaty moan. His eyes were bright, focused on me and my hand, and I watched, becoming more aroused with each pass of my hand over his hard length. He scorched my palm as I molded him, and suddenly his hips pitched up and he wiggled as he shoved his jeans and underwear down with a stuttering breath. I pulled the garments off the rest of the way, letting them fall wherever, and moved over him again, taking his lips with mine, his cock in my hand. Lingering on his bottom lip, I sucked gently as my thumb rolled over the slick, smooth head of his erection and a thin whine floated up from his chest.

His heart thundered beneath my lips as I kissed down his shoulders, over the ink on his skin, and further down, along his sternum and ribs, the blunt edges of my nails scoring gently along his skin and raising goosebumps in their wake. He shuddered and dug a hand into my hair as I nuzzled his belly and hips, and he hissed as my tongue flashed out and through the soft, dark curls.

The word _fuck_ fell from his lips heavily, and his shallow, sharp breathing paused as my breath glanced over the very tip of him. I dropped another inch, the heat of him intoxicating, the scent of him forever buried in my mind, and my lips brushed against him, and salt, smooth and hot, and I murmured his name against the turgid flesh before me.

He groaned hoarsely at his name, and whimpered as my mouth slid over him. His hips jerked suddenly and both fists tightened in my hair as he held me still. "Márín," he warned thickly. My eyes slid to his. "Love, you don't hafta…:" His gaze was hot, steady, and his nostrils were flaring. God, he was a bad liar.

"Shhh," I murmured against him, licking the spot just below the head. His eyes darkened at my next words: "I want ta."

* * *

In the next second, she swallowed the first few inches of him, slipping hot and wet and snugly around him. "Ah _fuck_!" he moaned brightly, his eyes blowing wide. But then, oh _then_, she was fucking _sucking_ him, swallowing him whole with pleasure, if the muffled sighs and moans coming from her were any indication. Why the fuck would he have protested this not fifteen seconds ago? His hips lifted as her mouth moved down, and he slipped deeper.

Her tongue rubbed against him, and she sucked harder. Slender, clever fingers wrapped around where she couldn't quite reach, and the more she sucked, the harder and hotter things got. White heat blazed in his hips, in his balls, and he knew that he would come quickly. "M'not gonna last," he muttered, warning her.

Her mouth left him quite suddenly, and she whispered "good" and took up her task once more, paying special attention to the head. Fuck, her mouth was insane, and Murphy grunted softly in time with his hips until he was suddenly arching sharply and clutching her shoulders. She hummed over his length and took just a little bit more of him, and moved just a little bit faster. Was that his heart stopping? It was a sucker punch, her clever mouth, and another blast of pleasure rocketed up his spine, making his toes curl.

"Ahhhh…._Christ_," he groaned.

She chuckled around him, and when she pulled her lips away, she smirked up at him. "Lord's name," she chided. She rolled the flat of her tongue along the underside of his cock in a wet, velvety kiss.

"Hail Mary," Murphy countered with a cheeky grin. He hissed sharply once more. "_Fuck_, lass, that's amazin'," he cooed, pulling her hair up in one hand and holding it away from her face. Her eyes sailed up to his, and he was lost. His feet slid along the sheets, looking for purchase as his hips came off the bed once more, and he cupped her jaw and watched as he swiftly came in her mouth, a chorus of moans and soft cursing announcing it. Her green and gold eyes stared back at him and when she had finished swallowing him, her lips came away with a soft smile.

Past the throbbing in his balls and the melting spine, his brain was coherent enough to hear her murmur, "Now you owe me two." He smiled in his lazy pleasure and nodded, closing his eyes as Márín moved away for a moment. She was soon back; he felt the mattress dip beneath her weight, and then she was stretching out beside him. She didn't crowd him, didn't cling or clamber onto his side, but instead curled towards him, and brushed his hair back from his eyes before slidingher fingertips down his shoulder to linger on his forearm. With another content sigh, he turned his hand over and caught her fingers, clasping them tightly, and he let sleep take him over.


	13. Chapter 13

_A/N: Who doesn't love two updates in one weekend? This is pretty much pure smut, just so you know...not that you all really mind...but there is a little bit of plot, promise! _

* * *

I woke and it was raining.

But that wasn't what had woken me.

A lick of toe-curling pleasure thrummed hotly in my belly as I felt the press of firm flesh drag up my thigh. My first thought was fingers, but when I felt the swirling huff of warm breath dance over the cotton panties that I wore, I knew it was Murphy's nose. I cracked an eye open and was greeted with the sight of his finger tips gently pressing my hips back to the mattress as his nose danced over my upper thighs and the curve of my belly. Suddenly, he paused, and his blue eyes flicked up to meet my gaze. His chin slowly dug into the spot just below my navel and he licked his lips before smiling.

"Mornin'."

"Hi," was the only thing I managed to breathe.

"Pretend m'not here," he muttered, lowering his gaze once more and continuing to memorize the feel of my skin with his face. The soft edges of his lips snagged over my hipbones and trailed gently up my ribs before lifting and starting again somewhere below my knees.

"What are ya doin'?" I finally choked out, as his lips neared my upper thighs.

He looked up quickly, cocking an eyebrow. "Whas it look like m'doin', love?" That tongue of his flickered out against his lip and my eyes fluttered shut. My head landed against the pillow with a sigh.

He drew a deep breath and then his fingers slid along the waistband of my panties, tugging gently while his tongue slipped down below the fabric and lashed against me, hot and wet. Open mouth kisses came next, branding my navel and just below my hipbones. Murphy let out a purr and pressed his chin along the inside of my thigh, from my knee to my crotch, where his lips touched softly. A flash of pink, his tongue, swirled right against the damp cotton of my panties, and he pulled back, looking back up to me.

"Can I…" he trailed off, his cheeks gone red with lust and innocence, and his breath puffed against me even as his fingers moved from the waist of my panties and began to drag them down, exposing just the first inches of dark blonde hair.

What was the best answer for this? _Of course_? _Go ahead_? _Be my guest_? I merely stared down at him, my mouth open and panting, and I nodded quickly. His tongue swiped over his lips and once more I groaned, slipping my fingers through his dark hair and pushing gently in the direction I needed him to go. His fingers skimmed over the soft, warmth of damp cotton between my thighs, and then I felt his mouth moving there, and I moaned softly, trying desperately to keep my hips still.

"Jesus, Murphy," I sighed, the fluttering sensations of his mouth and fingers serving to increase the fluttering in my belly.

"Lord's name," he chided softly from somewhere near my thighs. His lips touched bare skin and I stiffened with a little gasp. He chuckled. "Relax, Márín."

I continued pulling my fingers back and forth through his hair, smoothing it back from his forehead and tugging with need. "Murph," I panted. My hips arched up slowly. "Murph, please…" I trailed off and managed to open my eyes, looking down the length of my body. He was softly smiling up at me from where he lay prone between my legs, and his fingers gently traced the edges of my underwear once more. "Do you…have you…" I licked my lips, unsure of how to ask if he'd every actually done this before. I didn't want to discourage him. "Have you done this before?" I asked gently, still threading my fingers through his hair.

He grinned then, a genuine, serene pull of his lips, and he shook his head with a nervous chuckle. "Nope," he replied. "Though I'm of a mind that you'll tell me if I'm doin' something wrong, aye?" He gently pulled my underwear to one side and his tongue flashed out, swiping over the outer swell of my sex.

"Oh, fuck," I mumbled, falling back into the pillows.

"Shhh," he chuckled. "S'early. Don't wanna wake anyone else up just yet." He hummed and pressed another chaste kiss to the top of my thigh. His next words were somewhere between a whisper and a growl. "Want ya all to meself."

His fingers crept along my hipbones and slowly pulled the sides of my panties down. Every inch of skin exposed to air was thusly exposed to his eyes, and he stared his fill before kissing those inches reverently, his tongue flashing out here and there. He worked slowly and thoroughly, tasting and biting and sucking, almost like he was learning – memorizing – every plane of my body. I wiggled beneath him and he backed off, shooting me a curious stare.

* * *

He'd woken before her with the raging urge to piss, and had pulled his jeans on and disappeared down the hall. When he'd returned, he'd found her there, asleep on the pillows, her body curved and arching in the most enticing ways. He wondered if she did it on purpose. He wondered if she did it subconsciously.

Now, she squirmed back against the pillows, her hair spread wild and wavy around her head, and she tucked an arm behind her neck and arched her hips again with a playful shrug. "I needed a better angle," she replied softly, nodding. "Keep going?"

Murphy nodded quickly, but instead of moving back down to where those little gray panties were, he moved up along her torso, his eyes alight with the vision of her small, perfect tits jutting beneath his favourite Pogues t shirt. She must have thrown in on in the night to make a trip to the bathroom – not that he minded. His shirt had never looked quite so good before. His hands skimmed the hem of the cotton and pushed it up, exposing her belly, her torso, and he stopped just below her breasts to bend his head and explore her with his fingers and mouth. Tiny, soft moans escaped her, and her legs and hips twisted beneath him as she pressed her thighs together one moment, and then bucked her hips against him in the next, rutting against the worn cotton of his jeans.

Now she was at his mercy, not that he was really aware of that. Still, her face was relaxed but curious, watching his hands and his own reaction as he slowly inched the faded hunter green of his shirt up over the swell of her breasts, exposing the tender, unbelievably pink tips to the cool air of the room. They hardened almost instantly, causing Márín to whine impatiently, and making Murphy lick his lips and groan in reply.

Crouched over her, his hands moved and cupped her breasts as his mouth softly urged her into a lazy kiss, tongues flickering gently, teeth snagging on lips. His thumbs rolled over her nipples hesitantly at first, but when her kiss heated and hardened, Murphy went for broke and tweaked those hard peaks between his thumbs and forefingers. She mewled beneath him, and gasped wetly as he pulled his lips away. He didn't hesitate, didn't check to proceed, and instead journeyed down, trailing kisses along her jaw to her throat, and scraping the flat of his teeth along her collarbone. Every movement lower brought another round of soft keening from the woman beneath him, and Murphy was emboldened, pulling his lips over the curve of one breast. Gently, he tugged her nipple between his lips and sucked softly, rubbing it with his tongue.

"Oh _fuck_," Márín sighed, her fingers tightening in his hair.

He hummed a reply and moved to her other breast, treating it to a similar experience. He sucked harder now, rolling the tender bud under his tongue, and he gripped it with his teeth and pulled very slightly, earning a jerk of her hips and a breathy cry from Márín. Soon, he had her sobbing, a sound that went right through his guts and into his balls, making him tighten and sweat and tingle and itch all at the same time. He moved back and forth between her breasts, savouring one with his mouth and the other with his hand before switching, and finally, finally Márín hissed and tugged on his hair, pulling his lips away from his body.

"More," she breathed, gently nudging at his shoulders, pushing him down.

Murphy grinned, even though her eyes were closed and her head was thrown back, and he complied, kissing hotly and wetly down her breastbone to her belly, swirling his tongue along the edge of her navel. She sucked in a sharp breath as her belly fluttered and she arched her torso up, balancing on her elbows. "Fuck, Murphy, ya sure you've never done this b'fore?" she panted, her eyes wide and hot with lust.

He shook his head again. "Never found tha right girl." He looked up at her from under dark lashes as his fingertips once more snagged the waistband of her panties and tugged. "Not until now," he added huskily.

* * *

I swallowed thickly at the sound of his voice, the brevity of his words. There was a pressure in my chest, my limbs, everywhere, and I wanted it – _needed_ it – to burst with him. I knew it. As his fingertips curled into the side of my underwear, I felt my hips rising to accommodate him as he inched them down my legs and left them dangling off of one foot in his urgency. Cool air on heated, wet flesh only served to pitch me headlong into a depth of arousal I could almost sink my teeth into. I hadn't realized how aroused I was until that moment, and then Murphy was moving me. I watched almost as an outsider as he pushed my knee out, and then up, and hooked my leg over his shoulder.

With one more burning gaze, he sank down and pressed his mouth against me, open and full, and his tongue slid boldly around the slick warmth to rub against my clit. I saw stars, white exploding, and then my eyes slammed shut as I drove my hips up and rasped his name loudly. He moaned hotly in return, muffled against my cunt, and continued to lick and taste and suck greedily. His lips left for a moment, his breath heaving, and his voice huffed against me, "Fuck, girl, ya taste like rain," and disappeared once more behind the wet sounds of his mouth.

My heel collided with his shoulder and I felt his hands come up and pull me back down to the mattress, pressing me there as he pulled his mouth away and looked up at me. "Settle down," he chuckled. "M'just gettin' ta tha good part." Once more, his head descended, and his tongue swirled as his fingertips joined in.

"Ohmygod, _Murphy_," I sighed, wracked with deep, bone melting pleasure. I raised my hips in time with his hand, wincing with aching bliss each time I tightened around his fingers. _This_ was where I had been Saturday night and now I teetered on that edge again, remembering his voice from that night, when he said he had wanted to make me come. I swallowed and sucked a sharp breath, and looked down at him once more. Pulling at his hair again, his lips came away with another swipe of his tongue against my clit and I whimpered. "Murphy," I gasped, cupping his jaw, suddenly pulling him up my body. "Fuck, Murphy, yer gonna make me come."

His eyes widened momentarily and then narrowed, and his fingers twisted around until his thumb glanced over my clit. Then, his tongue was sweeping through my mouth, and I tasted myself, and him, and jerked my hips roughly into his hand. I wrapped an arm over his shoulders and dug my heels into the mattress, and his free hand held me up between my shoulder blades as I rocked with him, higher and higher. I could feel his firm muscles beneath my fingertips, feel his heat, his heartbeat, his breath against my face. I opened my eyes and found him staring down at me with complete fascination.

"You are so beautiful, Márín," he said very softly.

The words vibrated along my skin, so much like the first time he said them in the greenhouse. My breath hitched and I unfurled beneath him, coming swift and long, high pitched gasps and sighs my only other response. I clung to him, riding the waves of an orgasm I had never known the likes of before. I couldn't look away from him, didn't want to. Gently, his fingers flexed again and I thrummed, coming again, but softly.

I ached as he pulled his fingers free and I gaped up at the ceiling until his face filled my field of vision. He hovered over me with a satisfied smile, and he pushed his lips to mine again in a cool, controlled kiss that left me floating. He hummed and sank back down beside me, nuzzling into my shoulder as his hand skimmed over my belly and hips. I still trembled and he seemed fascinated by that, his fingertips pressing the muscles as they quivered. His breathing soon slowed, as did his fingers, and it wasn't long before Murphy was softly snoring next to me. I craned my neck down, loving the way his dark hair fell over his eyes and his dark lashes brushed against his cheekbones. I could be conent like this, just to lay here for eternity with Murphy, rolling through the sheets during the wakeful moments.

The room grew brighter as the minutes ticked by and Murphy didn't show any signs of rousing soon, so I slid out from under where his arm was slung across my waist. His Pogues t shirt was on the floor and so I pulled it on, and a pair of shorts, and snuck out of the room and made my way to the kitchen.

"Ya can always come an' live here," Liam yawned as he wandered in twenty minutes later. He took a deep breath and smiled when he was wrapped in the warm scent of pancakes and coffee. "I won't mind. You know Jenn can't cook a pancake ta save her life."

I smiled as I whipped the batter again and poured another batch onto the griddle. "An' yet her boxty surpasses mine," I pointed out with a chuckle. I looked over my shoulder as Liam settled into a chair and picked up the carafe with coffee and fixed himself a mug.

"Ah, yer right. Guess I'll keep ya both, then," he nodded. "Though, I have a feelin' that Muprhy will put up one hell of a fight." He winked and dumped sugar into his mug.

"I don't doubt it," I said, before turning back to the griddle and smiling to myself.

"I like them," Liam continued, flipping open the morning paper I had grabbed from the step earlier. "Good lads."

"Yer just excited at the prospect o' havin' a house full o'men," I chided, pointed at him with my spatula.

He laughed at that. "Aye, well, I have four sisters," he replied.

"God, I can't even imagine," I grinned.

"Lord's name," came a croaked reply and I watched as Connor shuffled in, looking worse than he had yesterday morning. He slumped into a chair next to Liam and grinned when a cup of coffee was pushed under his nose.

"I thought hair o'tha dog usually worked?" I chuckled, turning back to the pancakes.

"Aye, me, too," he groaned. "But I was tossin' n' turnin' all night, lass. Not used ta havin' tha room all to meself."

I edged the spatual under one pancake to gague its doneness and shrugged. "I dont know what yer on about," I replied lighty. "Wouldn't be proper like, him bein' not quite eighteen."

Connor scoffed. "Aye. I like yer shirt," he snarked with a cheeky grin. He surveyed the table with a rather haughty sniff. "Don't suppose there's tea?"

"Tea is for pansies," Jenny quipped as she moved into the kitchen. "Good mornin', little family," she sang as she joined me at the stove. Gently, she nudged an elbow into my ribs and when I looked at her, she gave me an expectant grin. "In a good mood, I see," she remaked with a hushed voice. "Does that mean that Murphy didn't stay put?"

I playfully shoved Jenny back. "Get yer mind outta tha gutter," I hissed back.

"I like her mind in the gutter," Liam piped up.

"Not helping," I called back before shaking my head at Jenny once more.

Jenny snorted. "Okay, _fine_," she hissed with a grin. "But I heard doors openin' and closin' in tha wee hours of mornin'."

I winked and continued flipping pancakes. "Well, some of us pee during the night, unlike you and yer giant bladder." I checked the clock on the stove, noting it was close to eight. Murphy was an earlier riser, so I'd assumed – most of our time together was in the mornings. At that thought, his voice sank into the kitchen, rough with sleep, but alert.

"Smells fuckin' divine in here," he announced.

I turned and my stomach fluttered at the half-assed grin he was giving me. Combined with sleepy eyes and his raging bed head, I blushed as a resounding throb swelled between my thighs. "Thanks," I answered breathlessly.

His eyes lingered a moment longer, sweeping from head to foot, and then glanced to the gathered company. "Mornin'," he nodded. He took the seat next to Connor and accepted the coffee Jenny pushed towards him.

There was a chorus of 'good morning' flung around, and then Jeny was calling out directions, setting Liam and the twins in motion to set the table while she handled things like butter, syrup, and napkins. Ten minutes later we were sitting down to pancakes, and the sausage I'd cooked right before. Before anyone could take a bite, Murphy and Connor bowed their heads, and filled the room with a warm prayer in rich Irish Gaelic.

Liam's answering _amen_ came next, and then we fell to eating, and drinking coffee, and back and forth conversation.

"What's tha plan then, fer tha day?" Connor asked around a mouthful of pancake he had drowned in syrup.

"Mmm," Murphy hummed around his own mouthful, just as syrupy as his brother's. He chewed and then swallowed and looked across the table to me. "Ya mentioned goin' somewhere."

I glanced from Murphy to Jenny, and then to Connor, who grinned and rolled his eyes. "Aye, want some alone time wit me brudder, all ya gotta do is ask."

Jenny sighed dramatically from the head of the table. "I suppose I can be off call t'day an' take ya 'round tha city."

Connor grinned and nodded, and dug back into his breakfast.

Liam frowned. "Wait, why am I th'only one workin'?"

"Cuz yer payin' tha bills, love," Jenny smiled, blowing him a kiss across the table. "An' ya love me."

Liam chuckled. "You love _me_," he countered.

There was an appropriate amount of _awww_-ing, and then breakfast continued until the twins had almost wrestled over the last pancake. I snatched it from the plate while they argued and was halfway done before they noticed. I pointed a fork between the two of them. "Don't look so upset. You can do the dishes."

Murphy chuckled as Connor let out a sigh, but they both nodded and stood, and began clearing the table. As I took the last sips of my coffee, Murphy leaned over my shoulder and pressed a quick kiss to the corner of my mouth.

"Thanks fer breakfast," he murmured, before taking my empty plate.

My tongue slid out and tasted the syrup that Murphy's lips had left behind, and I turned in my seat and followed him with my eyes as he and Connor moved about the kitchen. A swift foot connected with my shin under the table, and I choked on my last sip of coffee as I narrowed my gaze at Jenny. She lifted her eyebrows, gave my shirt a pointed look, and then gave me a look that said 'I want details', before she rose to see Liam off.

* * *

"Can y'at least gimme a hint as ta where yer takin' me?"

Márín shook her head and pulled Muprhy with her along the street. They'd ridden downtown with Jenny and Connor and then had split up with plans to meet in a few hours for lunch. Murphy had been to Dublin a handful of times, mostly for baseball, and so he was getting his first up-close look at the city. He took in the buildings and the shops, the people walking by, and couldn't help the smile on his face as he and Márín held hands and wandered. She was so carefree, and he was too, for good reason: they didn't have to worry about who would see them here. She even let him steal a quick kiss while they waited for a light to change.

They rounded a corner, passed a small café, and came to a stop before a door with peeling green pain. Murphy craned his head back and read the lettering on the sign that swung over the door: "Footnotes." He looked to Márín.

"This is tha bookstore I worked at. C'mon." Her grip tightened on his hand and she pulled open the door, setting off the tiny chimes that hung in the doorway. She pulled Muprhy in behind her.

He was overcome with the scent of paper and binder's glue immediately, but, more than that, his eyes widened at the rows of shelved books, shelves that were eight or nine feet high. His eyes moved to the headers on each shelf – history, self help, fiction, non fiction, classics, literature. He didn't even realize it when he tugged Márín along, reading the titles of books as he tilted his head to read the spines. It was her soft giggle that brought him round, and he stared at her for a moment before looking back at the surrounding shelves.

"This is amazin'," he nodded, pulling her hand up to his lips. "This is better than tha library in Clane," he elaborated, kissing her knuckles softly.

She nodded and looked around, smiling distantly as her eyes wandered over the book titles as well. "Here, c'mere," she urged, tugging him with her down the aisle and coming to a stop before a section. "I'll be right back, okay?"

Murphy gave her a quizzical look but he shrugged and nodded, and turned his attention to where she'd left him: Classics and Literature, Authors M-Z. It seemed he was at the latter half of the alphabet, 'W' to be precise, and a small smile formed on his lips as he recognized the name 'Whitman' on several spines. One in particular caught his eye and he pulled it, and found that it was the same volume that Márín had – the same volume he'd borrowed from her and accidetially torn two pages from. He picked it up and opened it immediately, skimming over the familiar words again.

"What did you find?" Márín asked as she appeared beside him a little while later. She pulled the book from his hands and read the cover.

"I figured ya'd want yer own back sometime," he explained.

Márín shrugged. "I'm in no hurry." She eyed him for a moment, and Murphy was entranced by the way the light played in the gold and green there.

Muprhy bit his lip and looked around the store once more before coming back to Márín's gaze. "What's your favourite?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Hmm?"

"Yer favourite spot in here? I know ya got one – some place where ya sat and read when ya weren't busy." He knew she had a spot because he had one at the Clane Library.

She grinned and nodded, and led him to the back of the store and up a shallow set of steps. The windows here faced south, and with the mid-morning hour, the sun was coming in softly, casting a dim, overcast light over the shelves back there. It was mostly languages and reference books stacked on the shelves, and Murphy paused to read more titles.

"You speak more than just Gaelic," Márín pointed out as she watched him stop.

"Aye," Murphy nodded absently. "Ma insists."

"Which ones?"

"Ah…" he continued glancing at titles as he spoke. "German…Spanish…Italian…an' Russian." He glanced over his shoulder and threw a casual shrug at her wide eyes. "Ma's a smart woman," he added softly, feeling a small pang of regret for how he'd left things.

Márín nodded. "Aye, she is. She taught you all of those?"

"Da's brother – uncle Sibeal? He had a hand in it. Said our Da insisted, too." He found a grouping of three worn, overstuffed chairs and pointed at it with a smile. "Here, then?" He didn't wait for her nod and took up a spot right in the patch of warm sunlight and opened the Whitman he was still carrying.

I could have sat for hours and watched him read, watched his eyes narrow as he skimmed passages and turned pages, his lips moving silently as he read. Every so often, his dark head would lift and his gaze would find me as his cheekbones turned pink. I could only imagine what he was reading and had no doubt that my favourite pieces were his, too.

"D'ya want ta go ta college?" I asked as I curled into a chair next to him.

He continued reading for a moment, but I could see the gears turning in his head. "Aye," he said slowly, closing the book on his thumb to keep his place. His lips lifted in half a smile and he shook his head then, as if the idea was wistful at best. "But I don't see it happenin'."

He sounded a little sad then, but there was still an edge to his voice, something that told me his mind was already made up on the subject. I pressed further. "What's keepin' ya?"

"Connor," Murphy shrugged, as if it was the most sensible answer.

I frowned. "I don't think I follow," I admitted.

"Aye, that's the gist, ain't it?" Murphy muttered. He set the book aside. "What would Connor do if I went off ta college?"

"Wouldn't he go, too?"

"Connor?" Murphy laughed. "Go ta college?" He shook his head. "He's too smart fer his own good, aye? Marks ta barely scrape by for graduation, but not enough ta get inta college. Has problems with authority, too. He lives an' learns through life, I suppose. We both do." Murphy grinned and turned back to the book in his lap.

I was an only child – maybe I didn't understand the sibling thing. I certainly didn't understand the twin thing, either, whatever the twin thing was. Murphy's acceptance was so black and white that a kernel of doubt began to form in my mind and my gut. He wasn't some young lad who happened to know his way with a woman. He was far more worldly than I could possibly imagine, and he had never left the country.

"What about travelling?" I asked with the next breath.

"Now _that_ I could handle," Murphy nodded. "I want ta go ta New York. Hang out in SoHo, an' Greenwich an' whatnot."

"I think you'd fit in," I offered. "I mean, I've never been, not ta New York. But I was in Boston once, years ago."

"Yeah?" Murphy set his book aside and leaned forward. "Did ya like it?"

"I did," I nodded. "It was right after graduation – me an' Jenny took off an' stayed with me Aunt Maura for two weeks."

"Would ya ever go back?"

I shrugged. "Hadn't really thought of it. Though, now that ya mention it, I suppose I might."

Murphy's smile was warm and infectious and fluttered in my belly. "Maybe we can go t'gether," he suggested, leaning forward in his chair and setting the book aside. He wrapped a hand around the arm of my chair and hauled it, and me, closer to him. His hands then found my knees, palms warm through my jeans, and he slid them up my thighs, rubbing back and forth as his eyes held mine.

"T'gether is good," I murmured, focusing on his mouth.

I couldn't get enough of kissing him. Seated the way were, I only wanted more, wanted to feel him right up against me again, and above me. Our lips met and parted and met, over and over, wet sounds of tongues and heavy breathing rising up around us. He shifted in his chair, and gently cleared his throat.

"Alone would be better," he grinned.

I checked my watch. "It's eleven. They close for tea now, and then again at one for lunch."

Murphy pulled away slightly. "Should we go?" He shifted in his seat.

I put my hand on his thigh and squeezed just above his knee, slowly shaking my head. "Technically I still work here," I supplied, "and the owner doesn't mind if I give my friend a…private tour."

Murphy swallowed and slid his glance to the side and down the steps to the main shop before he swept his eyes back over me. "What exactly d'ya have in mind?"


End file.
